Falling Down Stairs
by moseph
Summary: Now complete! "I’ve heard that time slows down at moments like this, but from my perspective, the clock hadn’t stopped."
1. Chapter One

Hello everyone! I'm back with a vengeance, here to present to you....a David fic! Huzzah! Aw, I love that cute little geek. He's like the Seth Cohen of 1899. Anyway, this one's a little sad and dramatic, and there's no love interest in it yet, but I actually think it's pretty good. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I think this is quite possibly the best fic I've ever written. So read, enjoy, and pity poor Davey.

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Chapter One

I stared with disgust at the morning paper. Nothing but dirt. I threw it aside and buried my head in my hands.

It had been two months since I was a newsie and I was already going crazy. I looked over at the abandoned newspaper. I knew exactly how each of the newsies would hawk that headline: Jack with his "improving the truth", Racetrack shouting the results of yesterday's horse races down at Sheepshead, Blink and Dutchy playing the sympathy card together, with Dutchy as the struggling student trying to pay tuition and Blink as his half blind brother. I would have used Les as my leverage, having him hover around me, making cute faces and adorably innocent comments. Like Jack said, that kid's got a face that could sell ice cream to....an ice cream vendor. Yeah. Sure.

The bell rang loudly in my ear and boys shoved past me on their way up the steps. I winced as someone stepped on my hand, but didn't say anything. I knew complaining would earn me yet another black eye or bruise. I waited until everyone was inside so I could gather the paper I bought in peace. I'd taken to buying the morning paper everyday just to see any of the boys and so far I hadn't even seen Les outside of our apartment. How can I buy a paper in Manhattan every day for two months and never see my friends? I cursed the school I attended in Queens. I took one last glance at the paper and resignedly stepped inside.

I entered the school room quietly, edging past the boys play fighting in the aisle. I set my shoulder bag down beside my desk at the far left of the front row and removed my coat. I struggled slightly with the very last button, but managed to pull it off and hang it on the back of my chair. As I sat down, I pulled my bag up onto my lap so I could fish out the book I'd been reading late last night. It was intriguing, about a scientist attempting to discover the cure for the common cold and accidentally comes across a way of time travel. Of course, it wasn't very plausible, but I was a bit tired of reality.

You know what's realistic? I'm not a newsie anymore. I'm never going to be again. I'm going to go to this school until I graduate, go to college, become a lawyer and get married. I'll have to deal with the insufferable boys in my class until I graduate two years from now. I don't have any friends here. Heck, I don't even have acquaintances here. All my friends are back in Manhattan, being newsies. Carrying the banner, going to Tibby's for lunch, battling Pulitzer and having fun. Breathing in some fresh air instead of stuffy classroom air. Reading the headlines instead of reading the tiny print of school books. I'm never going to see any of them again.

I didn't have any say in this. I did promise my parents I'd go back to school once Papa's arm healed, but I thought if I led the strike, they might agree to let me stay. But no, they completely ignored my opinion and agreed it was "for the best" that I go back to school.

And you know what the real kicker is? Les got to stay. _Les_ got to stay. Les is a stupid kid, who in two weeks will be bored with Jack and being a newsie and want to be a pirate or a bank robber or something equally as moronic. I had the passion. I was good at it. I made negotiations with the most powerful man in New York City. I lead the newsies to victory. And where did that land me? Back in school. I had friends for the first time and they took it away from me. I mean, Les has all of his teenage years ahead to make friends. I'll be sixteen in three months exactly and I've lost the only real friends I ever had.

I closed my eyes and thought longingly of the sights of Manhattan I'd seen when I was a newsie. The distribution gate. Newsies Square. Irving Hall. I saw Jack heading for the distribution gate, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. I saw Racetrack, Blink and Mush sharing a cup of coffee before they bought their papers. I saw Tumbler, Snipeshooter and Les using sticks as swords and pretending they were pirates.

I lay my head down on the solid wood desk, wishing this nightmare would end. I had just started banging my head lightly against the edge when Mr. Garrison's sharp voice interrupted me.

"David! Unless you are learning this telepathically, I suggest you open your English book to page 69 now," he scolded. I ignored the snickers behind me as Mr. Garrison turned back to the board. I was opening my book when his voice cut the air again, this time softer, but with a crueller edge. "You of all people need to pay attention. I highly doubt your parents will be able to _compensate_ for your lack of attentiveness." More snickers. I silently fumed as I gritted my teeth and turned a little quicker to page 69.

I was so sick of cracks about my family. I was "lucky"(or so I was told) to attend this prestigious private school for boys. Thanks to my exemplary conduct record and test scores, I was accepted on a scholarship of sorts. I was the only student here of, let's say, a lesser background. To put it simply, all the other boys who attended Sir Martin's Private School for Boys were spoiled and rich. It didn't bother me that I didn't have my own riding stable or whatever. What annoyed me was that it annoyed them. They saw me as "riff-raff" to be expelled from their sanctimonious school, students and teachers included. The principal was my only ally, although not a hugely reliable one at that.

"David, I'm sure the boys are just wary of you," he said after I came to him with my fourth black eye since I'd arrived at Sir Marty's. "After all, many of these boys have been taught that Manhattan is, well, a shady neighbourhood and thus have automatically seen you as a threat. I'm sure that if you keep to yourself and do your work, they'll eventually leave you alone. You wouldn't want to do anything that might provoke them."

_ Meh, who needs him_, I thought as I struggled to read a passage on verb tenses. Not that I was a poor reader. It was incredibly dull and repetitive. I learned this when I was Les' age. I took to drawing spirals on my paper as Mr. Garrison droned on. He occasionally stole threatening glances at me, but I made sure to appear to be busy reading whenever he did.

As I stumbled through the day's classes(the rest of English, then mathematics, French, science, history, geography and art), I was even more aware that I was easily the brightest student at Sir Marty's. I was here on a scholarship, so I couldn't afford to be slow or inattentive. They would kick me out of here faster than you can say "Carryin' the banner" and I'd be back to being a newsie. I was all too happy to return to my old life, but my parents would throttle me before I got the chance. So I participated in class, answering almost every question Mr. Garrison threw out at us and smiling satisfactorily when he cursed my name for being right, as usual. The other boys did nothing to stop me. They were too busy creating a game involving a match and a lot of chickens, I believe, from the diagrams on Freddy's desk.

The only class I actually enjoyed was art. Thankfully, Mr. Garrison is artistically challenged and our class is taught art by Miss Van Bemmel. She's the one exception to all the teachers here: she wants me here. She likes me. She thinks I'm incredible. It doesn't matter that I have the artistic skills of an ape. She thinks I'm a marvel for my intellectual skills. She'll always keep me late after school, discussing with me history and current events and politics(okay, I started the current events discussion. I couldn't help boasting to her about the strike. It's a proud moment in David Jacobs history). The boys would call me a teacher's pet if it weren't for the fact that Miss Van Bemmel is the most beautiful woman any of them have ever seen and they're all too jealous to taunt me. Thankfully, she shares my loathing of the scum that attends Sir Marty's and resists their obvious attempts at making her like them. So I guess I lied when I said the principal is my only ally. Miss Van Bemmel wants me to stay too.

"And remember boys, your perspective drawings are due next Thursday! So I want you working hard on them all weekend," she shouted above the rush to go home. I gathered my coat, books and bag a little more slowly than the others and left with a smile and a goodbye to Miss Van Bemmel. I managed to shove my books on my bag and put my coat on as I walked down the narrow hall. Unfortunately, it was in doing so that I hit Mark in the eye with my elbow. He turned to me with a threatening growl and I knew that he would soon be adding to my collection of facial abrasions.

Mark was a typical preppy rich boy who didn't have to try hard in his classes or bother with following any rules. They would never kick Mark out of this school. After all, his grandfather is Sir Martin, the founder of this school, and his father the sole benefactor. He certainly wasn't brilliant, but he didn't have to try like I did to keep his place in this school - it was guaranteed. His passions ranged from soccer to beating up me. He was muscular, good looking and a bonafide girl magnet. I often saw him sneaking through the hedges to the neighbouring girls' private school, Saint Bridget's Private School for Girls, accompanied on his way back by two to four giggling teenage girls. For the most part, he was your typical high school bully.

"Oh, hello, street urchin," he said mockingly. He flipped me a penny. "Here, a penny for your paper. Don't go out and spend it all tonight!" I stared at the spot on my chest where the coin bounced off it and the rage bubbled inside me.

"Why, Mark! I didn't see you there!" I exclaimed, shaking his hand enthusiastically. He looked at me in confusion. "It's so grand to see you again! And may I say, what a witty insult! You really should look into paying your minions extra for that." He was dumb, but even he could sense the sarcasm in my voice. Oh, now I've done it. He lunged for me and by some miracle, I managed to duck. Unfortunately, his aforementioned minions were right there to grab my legs and knock me flat on my back. They held my arms and legs while Mark sat on my chest, swinging at my face repeatedly. I could feel the blood spout from my nose and the black eye was already forming. He kept punching my face until he ran out of places there to injure. My lip was cut, my nose was gushing and my head was reeling, but I had yet to black out. He grew tired of pummelling me and got up, taking one last swing, this time at the centre of my chest, before leaving, his cronies following him. I stayed on the ground until I could no longer see their retreating backs, then picked up my fallen books and coat. I saw out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mr. Garrison leering through his window, his face aglow with delight at seeing Mark "put me in my place". I fought down the ever boiling rage and sped down the hall, out the doors and down the stairs.

As I hopped on the trolley that took me from Manhattan to Queens every morning, and back every afternoon, and grabbed the trusty railing in the centre to keep my balance, I tried to cover my face to keep people from staring. It wasn't working so well.

"Wow, sonny, what'd you do to your face?" a middle aged gentleman asked me, obviously hoping to hear some battle story. I was too ashamed of my incident to tell him the truth, so I simply said I'd fallen down the stairs at my school. Which wasn't a complete lie. Mark did happen to kick me down the stairs two days ago, on Wednesday. The man gave a sympathetic nod, although looked a tad disappointed, and turned back to his newspaper. I couldn't help but wonder who sold it to him and what tactics they used. I sighed. I had the brain of a genius and the heart and soul of a newsie trapped inside a geek's body.

When the trolley arrived at my stop, I ran off and hurried back to my apartment building. The sooner I got home, the more time I would have to do my homework and the less Mr. Garrison would have to pick on me about. My head was down, so I didn't see the person strolling towards me. I smacked into him. Thankfully, my head hit his firm, but softer-than-his-skull chest, avoiding another injury. I dropped the bag I was carrying, he the newspapers he was holding. I looked up to apologise to see Jack admiring my battle wounds.

"Christ, what'd you do tah deserve dat, Davey?" he asked with a grin. "Fall down dah stairs?"

"Not quite, Cowboy," I replied with a grin. "It's good to see you again, Francis."

He winced at his slightly embarrassing birth name, but replied only with "Nice tah see you too, Dave," and a pat on my back. I walked with him a bit, asking about work. The news was slow, as usual, but of course, he was improving the truth to the best of his abilities. He asked me about school and I lied and said it was good. For some reason, I didn't want him knowing that I was miserable. I finally had to go as we reached the street of my apartment building, but we said goodbye like nothing had changed. It was as if I would see him tomorrow at the distribution gate. He was about to leave when he turned back and asked "What's _really_ happening at school, Dave?" He seemed wary, like he knew there _was_ something awful and humiliating going on that I wasn't telling him and he couldn't figure out why. I was so close to telling him about Mr. Garrison and Mark and all the awful stuff I was going through, but I swallowed it and said "Nothing. Everything's fine." He nodded, but looked a little hurt that there was something I wasn't telling him. He took one last look at the dried blood beneath my nose, shook his head, and sauntered off in the opposite direction. I watched him walk away for a while, then turned and walked down my street when I saw him stop to light a cigarette.

As I opened the door, my mother looked up to greet me, only to be horrified at my facial injuries. "Oh my God, what happened David? Did you fall down the stairs _again_?" she gasped. Maybe I should stop using that excuse for everything.

"Yeah, I did, Mama," I lied, setting my bag down by the door and kicking off my shoes. She rushed to me, enveloping me in a huge, motherly hug. I saw over her shoulder Les counting coins laid out on the table, no doubt his earnings from today, and Sarah sewing and frowning at my allegedly clumsiness. When Mama finally let me go, I sat down at the table and ran my hands through my curly hair. Mama was just serving the dinner, ladling me a big bowl of soup and telling Les to put away his money before he spilled soup all over it. Sarah and Mamma sat on either side of me, while my father sat across the table. He looked at my face with concern.

"David, did you fall down the stairs again? That's at least the third time this week alone, not to mention all the times before that," he said, sounding worried, but also a little incredulous at my extraordinary lack of coordination. Yeah, I really needed to stop using that excuse.

"Don't worry, it's just a few cuts, Papa," I mumbled, staring down at my soup.

"A few cuts? Why, you're barely over one injury before you gain three others," he said, his voice rising. "What's really going on here, David?"

I rose my head and met his eyes. I thought briefly about telling him, but almost immediately decided against it. My parents would write to the school and complain, and the school would either scold Mark for beating me and he would beat me more for telling my parents, or the school would do nothing and Mark would continue to beat me. Either way, I lose. "I fell down the stairs, Papa. I'll try to be more careful," I replied in a steady voice. I could tell Papa wasn't buying it, but he must have been tired, so he gave up and starting eating his soup. I did the same, actually enjoying the silence after being at the noisy school all day. When we finished, Sarah cleared the table and I spread my school books over the table. Of course, it was a weekend, so I had until Sunday to do my homework, but I preferred to start on it as early as possible so I would have time to do it all. As I was finishing my mathematics homework, Sarah sat down beside me and put her hand on mine.

"Davey? What's really happening here?" she asked softly. I looked up and tried to look confused. She shook her head. "David, I've seen your school. There are more stairs here than there are there, yet you've never fallen here. I know you're lying David. Please, tell me. I won't tell Mama and Papa if you don't want me to. I just hate seeing you hurt so much." I didn't look up, but I saw her hand grasp mine more tightly.

"Sarah, there's nothing to tell. I fell. That's the end," I replied. Why won't anyone believe me and let me be beaten half to death in peace? I've never had a history of lying, so why are they choosing not to believe me? Of course, I've never had a history of falling down the stairs either, and yet I seem to be falling down stairs every other day since I started at Sir Marty's. Jack was concerned, Sarah was concerned, Mama and Papa were concerned. I could tell them and they might take me out of that school. But I couldn't risk it. So I would continue to lie until Mark finally beat me to death. I felt Sarah's grip on my hand tighten once more, but after a few seconds, she sighed and let go. I watched her go and could see the hurt that plagued her face.

I shook my head. What was Mark doing to me? He was destroying me, my family and my friendships with every blow. I hated that a moron like him was putting me in such a tortuous and horrible situation without even realizing it. I wanted to tell everyone what he'd been doing to me so they wouldn't think I was some idiot klutz, or at least tell Jack and watch him kick the crap out of Mark. But I was too ashamed and fearful for what Mark might do to me if I told anyone. So I resolved to think of better lies as I went back to my mathematics. Now, how do you calculate volume of a cylinder again?

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So that's all for now. Will Mark beat up David _again_? Will David fight back?

** Jack: **(((appearing onstage))) Will I ever go shirtless?

** David: **(((storms onstage))) Dude! Why am I so brooding anddepressed and all that jazz?! Isn't that Jack's area?

** Jack: **Hey! Okay, you're right. I brood. And it's damn hot, too!

** Me: **You bet your fine ass it's hot! And because that's the story line I thought of for you, David. Don't argue with me or I may cut you out completely and somehow turn this into a hopeless romance between me and Jack.

** David: **NOOO!!! Don't cut me out!!!

** Jack: **NOOO!!! Don't attack me with your lips _again_!!

Ladies, please review, or I shall be forced to hold Jack hostage. Oh, and while you're at it, go read and review my Christmas story "Rudolf Can Bite Me" and my now eight chaptered story "New York Is Calling Me". Now! I command you!

newsiesmoseph


	2. Chapter Two

(((blows kisses))) I love you all! My luuurvely reviewers!

**Little Buddy: **(((squirms excitedly))) Okay, I don't even have to read the rest of my Christmas present to know that I am going to be obsessed with it. Dude, if Jack went to my school, I would DIE!!! And he's having a Christmakkah party? KICK ASS!!!!!!! I would _so_ crash that party! I don't care if he stole it from The O.C., he's too beautiful to be mad at! And yes, I love Harry Potter, so feel free to make multiple references. Dude, I have _perfected_ David. I mean, like, his thoughts. His sense of humour and everything. Argh! I can't believe how much you rock! Love ya, Laddy! (heh heh, movie reference) Oh, and The O.C. is the best show _ever_.

**Brunette: **Yay! I want David to beat the crap out of Mark, but we'll just have to see where it goes, won't we? The title is my best one yet. I _suck_ at titles, but this one was right there. I don't know, it was taken right out of the story, but it seemed kind of symbolic of where I wanted the story to go. If that made any sense. And dude, my friends all think David's, well, not so cute, but I loooove him. I _am_ David. Well, I have a combination of Racetrack's and David's sense of humour, but everything else David. I relate to him so much. Thus, I am inside his head, making it really seem as if he is writing it. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but that's what I thought. Thanks for the warm fuzzy!

**Dreamless-Mermaid: **Dude, Davey Matrix style KICK ASS!!! I know, I was so sad writing this, I was like "My David! Must follow maternal instinct and protect him!" Don't worry, he'll make a comeback...I think.

**StormShadow21: **Ew. Math. I relate to your ewing of math. YAY FOR DAVID STORIES!!! I can't stop writing 'em. They come out of my ears. I most certainly will continue if it will earn me a cherished spot on your favourite authors list. AHHH!!! WINKING OVERDOSE!!! I used to be one of those people who did their homework as soon as they got home from school, but all my classes now except gym and French suck, so I postpone. Well, French doesn't suck, but French homework sucks, and science and it's homework suck and math and _it's_ homework suck. So the point of this story is...homework sucks. And school sucks. Except I get to torture Andrew as much as I wish and it's fun. But then he starts talking and I want him to die. So then it really sucks. Um..yeah. Review again!!!

So, you fine fellows ask what I did today? I saw CATS! at the Canon Theatre!!! HUZZAH!!!!!! And then I had to go and babysit for five and a half hours for the most adorable kid ever and got $33 for it. Tough day, huh? Anyway, it's 12:39 am on a Saturday....the regular crowd shuffles in....there's an old man sitting there next to me...making love to his tonic and gin...(((skips verse, stands on top of piano)))...SING US A SONG, YOU'RE THE PIANO MAN!!! SING US A SONG TONIGHT!!!!

**Jack: **'CAUSE WE'RE ALL IN THE MOOD FOR A MELODY!!!

**David: **AND YOU GOT US FEELIN' ALL RIGHT!!!

**Me: **(((puts arms around boys))) It's times like these that make it all worth it. (((to piano player))) Thanks, Billy!

**Billy Joel: **Thank _you_, Moseph.

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**Disclaimer: **Sorry, I forgot to do this last chapter. In fact, I almost always forget the disclaimer. I don't own Newsies or any of the characters in it. I only own Mark, Mr. Garrison and Miss Van Bemmel, a sad little bunch.

**Mark, Mr. Garrison and Miss Van Bemmel: **(((wave tiny pathetic flags)))Yay.

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Chapter Two

I flopped onto my other side in my tiny bed. A few weak rays of sunlight streamed through my window. I sat up, rubbing my head and wondering how my injuries seemed to have bonded together in order to inflict even more pain upon me.

I stumbled around the apartment until I found a clock. 7:13 am. How did I sleep in so late? I shrugged and shuffled off to the bathroom, yawning widely. I studied my wounds in the mirror. The swelling in my lip had gone down, but my black eye was growing and there was still a lot of dried blood that I hadn't washed off from the night before. Ew. I grabbed a cloth, wet it and rubbed vigorously at my face. My face ached, but I scrubbed until all the blood was gone. I quickly put on some clothes, grabbed my hat and my shoes and left the apartment for newsie square.

Of course, the boys would already have sold most of their morning papers, if not all of them, but it was worth waiting to see them again. I slid to the ground beside ol' Horace and hummed a little song while I waited. Finally, I saw a few boys approaching the sqaure. I stood to greet Racetrack, Kid Blink, Mush and Skittery. I was heartily(and painfully) slapped on the back by each and offered a cigar by Racetrack. I declined, since I don't smoke, but he lit one up himself and began to study my face.

"Wow Dave, you'se got quite de collection dere," he commented with a slight grin. "What'd ya do?"

"I fell down the stairs," I replied quickly. Ah, my old stand by. It got me through a lot of hard times. I know my family and Jack aren't buying it, but I'm sure these guys would just accept it. And accept it they did. Kid Blink shook his head and made some comment about me being a crazed fool(where did he learn the word crazed anyway? Or fool? Has Blink been reading again? Or did I teach those to him. Well, whatever, it'd do them all some good to get away from the phrase "dirty rotten scabbah". It's grossly overused), Mush just laughed and Skittery nodded sympathetically.

I accompanied the boys to Tibby's, hoping to see the others and maybe get a chance to talk to Jack some more. I hardly ever see him, which is surprising, since he and my sister have been going steady for...three months? Maybe two and half? It was the end of October. When was the strike? Crap, where are all those newspaper clippings when you need them?!

The boys chatted animatedly, puncturing my thoughts when they asked me why I wasn't in school. I explained that it was the weekend and I didn't have to go to school today or tomorrow, a concept unknown to them.

When we got to Tibby's, we sat in the old reliable booth and it was like I'd never left. There was an empty spot across from me, reserved for Jack of course, and newsies of all ages and sizes crowded on either side of our both, the centre of the action.

"Hey, Cowboy!" the crowd greeted Jack as he strode confidently into the teeny restaurant. Craig, the waiter who always seemed to be there, greeted Jack like a cousin or something.

"Hey Jackie, how's life treatin' ya?" the middle aged man asked warmly. Jack nodded his head in reply, which Craig seemed to understand, and sat down at the seat saved for him.

"Hey Jackie Boy, look who we found!" Racetrack exclaimed, pointing a grubby finger directly in my face. Jack smiled and nodded.

"Hey Davey. Long time no see," he said sarcastically. Ah, he finally knows how to use it properly thanks to me. I nodded at him. Racetrack looked confused.

"We saw each other yesterday," I explained briefly. He looked a little disappointed that he wasn't able to reunite Jack with his long lost best friend. Jack asked Craig for "da usual" and within a few minutes, he brought a large round of root beer. As everyone clamoured for the glasses, Jack slapped some money on the table.

"You'se lookin' a liddle bettah den when I saw you yestahday," Jack said quietly to me. I shrugged.

"Well, you know, after I got cleaned up, I looked a lot better," I replied. I'm not so good at thinking of responses to comments that have no obvious response. Like, when people comment on the weather, I always want to contribute something interesting, but I always end up just agreeing blandly and sounding really boring. Jack nodded and started to say something else, but couldn't seem to find the right way to word it and gave up.

After the first round of drinks was finished, Jack excused himself for a smoke(Craig had a strict no smoking policy. He had an intense fear of his restaurant being a victim of accidental arson, so he always asks the newsies to stay outside when lighting up) and asked me to come. No one really thought anything of it, except me. I could tell by the look in his eyes that something was wrong.

The air was unusually warm for the end of October, although with a slight edge to it. Jack soberly lit up, blowing smoke into the wind. I nervously fiddled with a coin in my pocket. Jack turned to me.

"David, I want you'se to tell me dah truth. I can tell dat you'se lyin' and I ain't standin' for it," he said firmly. I was sure that he was going to make me come clean, but I attempted one more time at playing dumb.

"Jack, I don't know what you're talking about, but I can assure you that-" he cut me off by gesturing angrily at my bruised eye, narrowly missing it.

"Dave, have you seen a mirror?! You look like you been beaten up badly more den once!" he shouted. I looked nervously back into the restaurant. No one was looking or appeared to have heard anything, so I looked back at Jack. He was almost trembling with anger. Jack didn't like being lied to. I had a hard time meeting his eyes and didn't respond. Jack bit his lip. "Who's doin' dis to you, Dave," he said more quietly.

"How do you know someone's doing this to me?" I shot back in equally soft tones.

"You ain't lookin' me in da eye, Dave. And I figure dat if people ain't lookin' me in da eye, dey's tryin' tah covah somethin' up. Eider you know I'm right and don' wanna tell me or you'se tryin' tah covah somethin' else up an' I wanna know what it is," he said smugly, proud that he finally got something right. Okay, I wasn't getting out of this one without telling the truth or coming up with a really, really good lie. I haven't had much practice with lying and even if my feeble lies fooled my mother, Jack could see through any fib in a second and wasn't going to believe me.

But, really, how was it his business? He always has some injury or another and if I ask him what's wrong, he barely responds. So why should I tell him? I shook my head and headed for the door of the restaurant. He grabbed my shoulder roughly.

"Don' walk away Dave, I ain't t'rough yet," he said, pulling me back. I wriggled underneath his grasp and managed to pull away, this time heading back in the direction of my apartment. I could hear him sigh with exasperation and start running after me. I started to run too, but he was considerably faster than me and managed to grab my arm roughly this time.

"Dave, tell me what's goin' on!" he yelled, pulling me to face him and grabbing my other arm. He had a strong hold on me and I couldn't just walk away this time. I looked him in the eye. He was panting and angry, but he looked really worried. I hated to do this to him, but I couldn't tell him.

"It's my business, Jack. Not yours. Now let me go," I said calmly, with a hint of coldness. He held my arms tightly and stared harder at me, trying to get me to confess, but no dice. Finally, he let go with a sigh, turned his back and walked away, crushing the cigarette he dropped when running after me with his foot. My heart sank somewhere into my abdominal region and I turned to go.

I was killing Jack slowly and I'd never felt more guilty. As I began the slow, long walk back home, I felt myself shrink to two inches. I'd told my best friend, and probably one of the few friends I'll ever have in my lifetime, to stay out of my business. Jack was a tough guy, but he also liked to be the hero. Saving orphans from hard street lives and bringing them into the Lodging house, defending runts from villains like the Delanceys, giving someone his spare money so they wouldn't have to sleep on the streets, sleeping on the floor when an extra bed was needed. He could always tell where his help was needed, and though he liked to act like a hardened street rat, he had a soft spot all the newsies were well aware of. Jack could sense that I needed help and it hurt him that I wouldn't let him be the one to save me.

I kicked a stone angrily, but all that did was hurt my foot. I was sick of having to be rescued. I was fifteen and I could take some action, right? I didn't have to just wait around for Jack to show up while Mark beat the crap out of me. I could defend myself. Right? I sat down on a street corner and curled myself into a little ball. I felt like bursting into tears, I was so torn. Who was I kidding? I couldn't beat Mark. He was the rich, snob version of Jack, minus the intense need to help people and including the intense need to hurt people. I wanted help, but I felt like this was a battle I had to fight on my own.

When I looked up, I discovered that I was sitting on the corner that my building was on. I stood, using the doorknob to pull me up, and turned it slowly. I stared at the stairway. Normally, I would climb the stairs like usual, but they seemed to have taken on a sudden meaning. I began to climb them, but was afraid that I would fall down them from all the lies I'd been telling. You know, like a self-fulfilling prophecy or something. Like the stairs would purposely make me fall down them as punishment for blaming all the injuries from Mark on them. I did, however, make it up the stairs(though I did lose my balance once. The railing saved me on that one) and opened the door to my apartment. It was still empty. I looked at the clock. 10:30 am. Where could everyone be? I guess Sarah was making some deliveries, Mama had probably taken Les with her to the grocery store and Papa was most likely visiting his friend who broke his leg during the trolley strike.

I slid underneath the covers of my bed and pulled them over my head. I felt like I was going to throw up. After the emotional exhaustion I'd suffered today, I was ready for a nap.

* * *

I woke up to the feeling of someone shaking my arm roughly.

"Wake up David!" Les shouted in my ear. "It's time for dinner!" As I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, Les scampered off into the kitchen. Was it really time for dinner? I tip toed into the living room. It was 6:35 and the table was set. I guess it was time for dinner. I sat down and silently helped myself to some potatoes. There was only the sound of cutlery scrapping on plates.

"So I talked to your principal today, David," Papa said, dishing green beans onto his plate. My fork stopped halfway to my mouth. Oh shit. I put the fork back on the plate.

"Really?" I asked casually, taking a sip of my milk. "What about?" Please not about Mark, please not about Mark, _please_ not about Mark.

"I wanted to know if he was aware of your accidents, naturally. You know, about you falling down the stairs so much," he said. He wasn't looking at me, but appeared to be engrossed in his meal. If I had been deaf, I would have thought he was talking about the weather. "But he hadn't heard anything about it." I began to sweat.

"Well, it wasn't a big deal, so I didn't mention it to him," I said casually, attempting to swallow a mouthful of potatoes. It took considerable effort, but I finally managed it. Papa nodded.

"Right. But he _did_ seem to remember you coming to him about some Mark fellow who had a few problems with you," he mentioned casually. He looked at me this time, obviously checking to see how I was reacting. I tried to stay calm.

"Uh, I don't remember that. I only know one Mark and he's a very, um, nice guy," I said, in what I hoped sounded like a convincing voice. Papa nodded.

"Well, he was certain it was you. And he was certain that you told him this Mark was beating you up for no reason," he said. Argh, so much for the principal being my only ally. I shovelled in another forkfull of potatoes and swallowed them.

"Huh, that's odd. He must have me confused with another David," I replied. Papa opened his mouth to speak again, but I didn't hear anything, so I guess he gave up. I saw Sarah cast me a warning look and my mother look at me in her concerned motherly way. I ignored them both, took a long drink from my glass of milk, and ate the rest of my food rapidly. When I was done, I excused myself and went back to bed.

Okay, he's onto me. And he obviously told my mom everything the principal said, so she's onto me too. Sarah's an intuitive girl, so she probably figured it out from our conversation. And Jack obviously knew, but wanted to hear it from me, for some reason. Well, he knew I was getting beaten up, but he didn't know by who or why. Can't a guy have a secret in this city anymore?

* * *

Ah, done just in time for another post before Christmas. Well, I actually have until Saturday, but whatever. It's done now, thus it shall be posted now. Oh, and sorry there's a lot of rambling in this, but me and Davey are ramblers, so...yeah.

**Jack: **(((sniffs)))Why won' Davey share? I jus' wanna help!

**Me: **Because you can't find out yet. It's not allowed.

**Jack: **(((angrily)))Oh yeah?! Says who?! I'll soak 'im!

**Me: **Well, me, obviously. I am the creator of this story, thus I control every movement in it. And that includes everything _you_ do. I could conceivably insert myself into the story, make you fall hopelessly in love with me and have you kiss me through your own self will.

**Jack: **(((shudders)))Note to self: _nevah piss off moseph._

**David: **What do you mean I can't take on Mark?!?! I could _so _take on that pansy!!!

**Me: **(((snorts)))Yeah, okay Dave.

**Jack: **(((snorts harder)))You're so funny, Dave.

**David: **(((fumes)))I could take him on! I bet I could take on Jack too!!!

**Me: **Oh, Dave, you crack me up. (((cracks up)))

**Jack: **(((angry)))Oh yeah, wussy? BRING IT!!!

**David: **Oh, I'll bring it!!!

(((Boys hold each other in head lock. Neither have the upper hand. They both struggle slightly and growl a few threats to each other)))

**Me: **Well, this won't be going anywhere for a while. (((pulls out chair and popcorn, watches boys wrestle))) In the mean time, review and tune in again to see who wins this, um, intense match.

**Jack: **YOU AIN'T BRINGIN' IT, WUSSY!!!

**Me: **Did I mention whoever loses this has to kiss me? For five minutes?

**David: **AHHH!!!! WRESTLE FASTER!!! MUST NOT LOSE!!!

**Jack: **(((shudders)))

**Me: **Thanks guys. (((turns to readers))) Must I remind you yet again to review? Yes, I must. Review!!!

newsiesmoseph


	3. Chapter Three

WOOP!!! MORE REVIEWS!!! Ahhh, the sweet smell of reviews in the morning. Oh, on a side note, everyone go read LegallyRed's story "Happy Chrismakkah With Love", not only because it stars me and Jack(((drools))) but it's also really good and cute. OK, about your reviews:

**StormShadow21: **Hmm, sometimes I have a little _too_ much energy. I'm glad you have fun reading my responses because I have a fabulous time writing them. WOOT for Billy Joel! He kicks serious ass! He and I have the same birthday! (((smiles and nods proudly))) I get up around 7:00 on school days. When I sleep in, I sleep until at least 10:30. That's why I love the weekend. I can stay up way late just for the sake of staying up and I can sleep until past noon(although I usually don't unless I'm sick). I leave for school around 8:00, and school starts at 8:25, but I live so close to my school that it barely takes any time to get there. I've been trying so hard to have shorter showers, but sometimes, if I'm really tired or depressed, I'll shower for half an hour. Ha! Rhyme! Jack is _so_ hot! I was watching Newsies today and I noticed he looks really hot at the part where he grabs David and sings/yells "Pulitzer may crack the whip but he won't whip us". And poor David is so cute. I could totally feel my heart breaking when I was writing the last chapter. Dear lord, I love that slow motion thing. I'm determined to make my future boyfriend/husband do that with me. It's awesome. Hey, I've tripped over _everything_. Once, I tried to reenact something really funny for my friends and I stood up and I accidentally stepped on my foot and for some reason, this caused me to lose my balance and fall over, much to the amusement of my friends. Hmm..who should lose and get to kiss me?...we'll have to see.

**Brunette: **Aw, it makes me happy that you're happy that I updated. I always get this huge feeling of anticipation when I write and post a chapter. Like, when it's all done, I feel so excited and I read it over and it looks good and then I post it(and sometimes get to name it, if my chapters for that story have names) and then I just wait for reviews to come in(wow, biggest run on sentence _ever_, there). Usually I post late, late at night and when I wake up in the morning, oh, look, a review! Awww, David's so cute. I love his little ramblings because it reminds me of me. I am David. I become more convinced of it every time I watch Newsies. Thanks and enjoy the chapter!

**Dreamless-Mermaid: **I know, Blink reading is a funny, funny thought. I love my authors notes more than the actual chapter. Well, I love writing them more, at least. They don't have to make any sense at all and, well, senseless writing is fun. Protector Jack, huh? Sounds like an action figure. If I ever see David Moscow, I will so tackle him and hug him to death. My friend and I have decided that if we ever see Christian Bale, we'll sing Santa Fe at the top of our lungs to get his attention and when he sees us, we'll run away. Or maybe not, whatever. Maybe we'll only run away if he's mad. Believe me, if I need extra characters, you and Kathy will probably be asked. But I don't think this story is going to have many original characters, if any. Please read and review again!

**LegallyRed: **I hate obvious dialogue. Like, people always say to me "Oh, you've gotten so big since I last saw you!" and I never ever know what to say. I'm torn between "Did I grow? Really?! Who would have caused me to grow without seeking my permission?!" and "Well, my my, you've grown too! I mean, look at you, you must be well into dentures now!" but most of them wouldn't get it, so I usually just smile and nod. Yeah, Legolas makes a lot of really obvious statements and comments. For example: _Legolas: _(((finds arrow)))Goblins! (((hears noise))) Orcs! Orlando Bloom does not come off as a smart person when he's not given lines to say, and even then he sounds kind of stupid(sorry to any Orly lovers out there). As you can tell from my review for my Christmas present, I completely loved it. YAY FOR O.C. REFERENCES!!! Enjoy this chappie please!

**Facist:** Thanks for your review! Damn those mean boys! They should die! Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

The story continues as our heroes wrestle for the right to protect their lips and not kiss the dastardly Moseph, who is making the loser snog her. Who will prevail?

**Jack: **(((still has David in head lock)))I...can't...do...this...any...more.

**David: **(((same)))Me...neither.

**Jack: **(((stands up, holds out hand)))Truce?

**David: **(((spits in hand and shakes Jack's)))Truce.

**Jack: **(((looks at hand in disgust)))That's disgusting!

**David: **(((laughs)))

**Me: **(((frantic, drops popcorn)))No! No! There can't be a truce! Who am I going to kiss?!

**Jack: **(((looks at David and shrugs)))Gotta be one of us or else she'll get us both.

**David: **I think it should be you. I mean, you're obviously the ladies man here. Give her a first kiss to remember!

**Me: **(((winces)))Can we not point out that I've never been kissed, please?

**Jack: **Dude, I've got a girlfriend.

**Me: **(((falls on floor)))JACK SAID DUDE!!!

**David: **It's never stopped you before, buddy.

**Me: **Look, if someone doesn't kiss me soon, I'm going to kiss _both_ of you.

**David: **Come on, Jack, I'm fragile!

**Me: **If someone is not on my lips with theirs by the time I count to three!!!

**Jack: **Dave, haven't you always wanted a kiss to remember? Here's your chance!

**Me: **One...

**David: **Gimme a break, Jack! I'm getting beaten up here! I could die by the time this story is over! Don't put me through anymore!

**Me: **Two...

**Jack: **Fine! I'll do it!!! (((walks over to moseph and kisses her passionately on the lips)))

**Me: **(((muffled underneath lips of Jack)))Three...

**Jack: **(((pulls away, looks smug)))Hey, that actually wasn't bad! Was that really your first time?

**Me: **(((nods)))Carpe diem, Jack! Way to seize the day!

**David: **(((excited)))That's my song!!! (((singing)))Nothing can break us, no one can make us-

**Me: **Shut up, Dave, you didn't kiss me. You have no right to sing! (((points accusing finger)))

**David: **(((still singing, trailing off)))Give our rights away....(((spoken)))I guess I was mistaken.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Newsies or any of the characters. If I did, well, things would be a lot different around here....

* * *

Chapter Three

Judging by the bonging of my next door neighbour's clock, it was well past two o'clock in the morning and I hadn't slept a wink. It could be due to the nap I had earlier, but I was always a heavy sleeper and I'd never, ever had trouble sleeping in the past. So what was keeping me up now?

I swung my feet over the side of the bed and they hit the wood floor with a soft thunk. I tiptoed into the kitchen and was reaching for a glass for some water when I heard the key in the lock. _Shit!_ I thought frantically and, thinking quickly, ducked behind an armchair. _Oh yeah, they'll never see you now, David. You're invisible_, I thought sarcastically. Wait, did I just make a sarcastic joke at my own expense? I _am_ good.

The door creaked open, the door opener obviously trying not to be heard. _Who has a key to our apartment that doesn't want to be heard coming in?_ I thought. My question was answered when I heard the shushed voices of Jack and Sarah. What was Sarah doing home this late? I mean, what could they have possibly been - ohhhhh. And Sarah's the good one. Riiiiiiiight. Good thing she didn't become a nun like she was planning. I couldn't see what they were doing from behind the chair and thank God because it didn't sound like a pleasant thing for a brother to see. I started counting the stripes on my pants as they continued to enjoy a little quality time in the kitchen of our apartment. By the sounds of it, I was going to be here for a while. I was attempting to find a comfortable position so my leg wouldn't fall asleep when I heard Jack's voice.

"Sarah, do you know what's da mattah wit Dave?" he asked. Sarah paused.

"Maybe it's not a good idea to talk about my brother while I'm trying to kiss you," she said and the awful noises continued. Crap, I was beginning to perk up. It was looking like the beginning of the end. I glanced at the clock. How long had I been here? I looked closer. Twenty-four minutes?! Sarah let out an annoyed whimper. I guess Jack stopped her again.

"I mean, he won' talk tah me an' I was wonderin' if you knew what was botherin' 'im,"he said. Sarah sighed and pulled out a chair. I listened closer.

"I don't know. I've tried talking to him and he won't say a thing. And believe me, that's unusual for David. You know how much he likes to talk, even when people aren't interested," she replied. I was about to stand up and protest when I reminded myself that it was completely true. I do like to talk about everything. Sometimes, I talk so much, I stop listening to myself. Wow, I must get really annoying. Jack snorted in agreement with Sarah. Speaking of talking about things no one cares about...Jack talks so much about Santa Fe, I've considered kidnapping him and shipping him there just so I won't have to listen to him anymore.

"So you'se got no idea?" Jack asked.

"Well, Papa talked to David's school. The principal thinks David's getting beaten up at school, but he hasn't bothered to do anything about it and David hasn't admitted to anything," she said. Jack gave a weary sigh.

"Dat's exactly what I t'ought," he said. "He won' tell me nuttin' eider." There was a lengthy silence and I heard my father's gentle snores from my parents' room. Finally, Jack spoke again. "Damn Davey and 'is pride. He's almost as bad as me."

"Jack, as much as I love my brother, would you mind shutting up for a minute?" Sarah asked almost seductively. Jack seemed confused by this.

"Wha' do you- " Jack began, cut off, no doubt by Sarah. I rolled my eyes and was subjected to a few more minutes of unpleasant sounds, before Sarah and Jack finally said a reluctant goodbye and the door closed behind him. Sarah let out a satisfactory sigh and the door to her bedroom closed. I waited a moment, then warily poked my head out from behind the chair. The apartment was empty and quiet and I was still holding the glass in my hand. Suddenly, I didn't feel so thirsty. I feel more like I needed a shower.

* * *

Ah, Sunday. My last day of freedom before five more days of that evil hell hole. I woke up earlier than usual that morning and tip toed out to meet the boys at the distribution gate. Sure enough, there they were, cramming the remains of fresh, nun-baked bread in their mouths. They all looked pretty tired, as usual, Jack especially. I smirked a little at him when he mumbled a groggy hello to me and almost walked into a pole.

"You seem pretty tired," I commented. Jack muttered an incomprehensible response. I must have looked at him oddly, because he attempted to speak again, a little more clearly. After several attempts, Racetrack stepped in.

"You'll have to excuse Cowboy here, Dave. 'E was out pretty late las' night," Race said with a smirk. I nodded knowingly, but didn't press Race or Jack for details, since Jack looked pretty embarrassed. Jack wasn't exactly one to spare us gross details of his escapades with girls, but come on, would you be so willing to tell your girlfriend's brother what you were doing so late with her last night?

As we approached the gate, I heard the old familiar conversations mixed in with a few unrecognizable voices. There were always new newsies(I mentally snorted. New newsies. Bah) joining the bunch. I saw a couple of teenage girls standing calmly in line, looking almost serene next to the rowdy boys. The few female newsies were always like that: they preferred to view the work of a newsie as a job, rather than a lifestyle. Of course, they made friends amongst themselves and a few had hooked up with the male newsies, but they mostly sold their papers and didn't bother to participate in things such as lodging house poker games and newsie rallies. None of them had participated in the strike.

I probably would have talked to a few of the ones I was familiar with if I hadn't been so preoccupied with my own thoughts. I was in a better mood than I had been, since I was around the guys again, but I still felt detached and lonely. I used to be part of the gang, the one who welcomed newcomers to the group. Now I was an outsider looking in on what used to be my life.

"Ready tah go, Dave?" Mush said brightly, interrupting my thoughts. I looked behind him. The others had their papers as well. The line seemed to be going pretty fast today. I nodded and followed them out to the street where they split up. I looked around for Les, deciding I would stick with him, but I couldn't find him. I inquired with Jack and I managed to make out that Les usually stayed home on Sundays. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed that, since I do live with him. But I do spend the majority of my weekend in my bedroom, doing homework and hiding under the covers. I settled for shadowing Jack that day, leaning casually against the wall as he hawked papers. Or, at least, tried to.

"Bloody headline!" Jack said, storming over to where I stood and sounding much more coherent. "Look at dis!" Jack brandished the wrinkled newspaper he'd been trying to sell for the past fifteen minutes in my direction. I held it and scanned over the headline on the front page, "Mayor's Charity Ball Grand Success", grimacing in disgust.

"No luck "improving the truth" today, then?" I asked, utilizing air quotes, much to Jack's chagrin. He shook his head and lit a cigarette. I flipped through the newspaper. The best story was on page 28, about an infant being saved from a burning building, but it was a weak story at best. I sighed and folded the paper as Jack finished his cigarette and crushed it with his foot on the ground. "Well, what are you going to do?" I asked. Jack blew a bit of smoke he'd been holding in out of his mouth and shook his head.

"I guess I'se gonna have tah play da sympathy card," he said mournfully.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Jack? I mean, I thought you always said you were above it," I said.

"Well, desperate times call foah desperate measures, isn't dat what you always said, Dave?" he said, taking the paper from my hands and instructing me to lean against the wall and not make a sound. I did so, putting my hands in my pockets and looking around distractedly. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack approach a woman.

"Buy a pape, miss?" he said, with his charming lopsided grin that would make any woman melt. She hesitated.

"I'm sorry, young man, but I don't need a newspaper today," she finally declined. She started to walk away when Jack stopped her.

"Please, miss, you gotta help me out," he said desperately. "See dat boy back dere?" Jack pointed to me and I quickly averted my eyes from them, staring at a scuff on my shoe. Hey, how did that get there? I heard Jack continue. "Dat's my liddle bruddah. He's deaf, see, and we's trying to raise some money so he can go to a special school. Please, miss, did is da only job I got. Pop works at dah factory, but he ain't paid very well and Ma's gettin' sick. My family's dependin' on me!" The woman gazed at me pitifully. I almost leapt to my defence when I remembered I was supposed to be deaf and thus wouldn't have heard any of their conversation.

"Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry. Here, a nickel for your paper. Good luck to you and your family, dear," she gushed. Jack thanked her profusely("God bless you, ma'am! You'se a saint!") and she walked away, feeling a little better about herself, I'm sure. Jack smiled at her retreating form one more time and walked back to me.

"Brilliant, Dave. Our best work yet," he said, smiling triumphantly. I shook my head.

"You are a filthy rotten liar. I can't believe you dragged me into this," I said, smiling despite myself. He shrugged.

"Hey, dat's life, Dave. I'se got a place tah sleep tonight and dat's all dat mattahs tah me," he said. He pulled out another cigarette when he saw another prospective customer approaching. He hastily put it back in it's box and told me to do the same as I did before. As much as I wanted to resist, I nodded and watched Jack work his magic, yet again.

* * *

I wearily returned home that night, after a long day of leaning against a wall. I opened the door to my apartment, only to find it empty. I looked around, puzzled, and found a note on the table.

_David, _

_We went to Irving Hall to see a show since you were so late coming home. We've already eaten dinner, but there are some leftovers on the counter for you. We won't be home until late. We love you!_

_Mama_

I put the note back on the table with a sigh. Great to be loved, right? I plodded into the kitchen and found the so called leftovers. As I nibbled at them, I picked up the book I'd been reading earlier and read it as I ate. When there was nothing left to eat, I plodded off to bed. On my way to my bedroom, I check the clock. 7:23 pm. So I was home late after all. While Jack's method of selling(i.e. using me) was effective, it certainly wasn't quick. I changed into my pyjamas and fell into bed, not looking forward to school the next day

* * *

So! Merry belated Christmas, to those of you who celebrate it. I must say, I had an awesome Christmas this year. Rocky Horror Picture Show on DVD(quickly becoming one of my favourite movies of all time), an mp3 player(now, if I can just figure out how to work it), a portable cd player(finally! I swear, that old one had springs coming out of it), _Wicked_ soundtrack("Tell them how IIIIII'm defyyyyying graaaaaavityyyyy" Welcome to Moseph's karioke hour, y'all!) and, last, but _certainly_ not least, what I have been waiting for, for a very, very long time......NEWSIES SOUNDTRACK!!!!! (((leaps around excitedly))) So Feliz Navidad to all and sorry this chapter is out later than the others. I was lacking some inspiration and, I must say, a bit preoccupied with Tim Curry to be writing("I'm not much of a man by the light of day but by night I'm one hell of a lover!" Hit it! "I'm just a sweet transvestite from Transsexual Transylvaniaaaaaaaaa!!!" Oh Tim, you are truly a man among men).

Sorry, my author's note was really long, but _I_ thought it was funny, so there. Actually, this chapter, in my opinion, was pretty funny. But then, that's just me. I love everything Dave does, including things that he didn't do. If that makes sense to _anyone_ other than me.

I would drag Dave and Jack out to talk to you guys, but Jack's a bit tired from the wrestling match and Davey's too emotionally wounded from when I told him he had no right to sing.

(((Noise)))

**Me: **(((cocks ear))) What is that?

**David: **(((leading angry newsboys)))Moseph has to respect our rights! We demand the right to sing!!!

**Angry newsboys: **(((look menacing)))Yeah!

**Me: **I never said you guys couldn't sing. Just David. Because he wouldn't kiss me. Not that I minded kissing Jack, but I'm still hurt, David.

**No-longer-angry newsboys: **Really? We can still sing? Kick ass!

**David: **But you still want to support my cause, right? I mean, isn't it unjust that I have to kiss someone to be able to sing?

**Newsboys: **(((shrug)))Hey, not our problem. (((walk away)))

**Me: **(((grins evilly))) So, what will it be, Davey, my love? Kiss me or never sing again?

**David: **(((thinks))) Hmmm, what shall I do? (((makes makeshift sign that says "I won't snog!"))) I'm officially on strike!

**Me: **(((shrugs)))Suit yourself. No singing for you, then. And if I catch you doing so, I will....well, I'll do something awful. So, until next time folks, please review(and while you're at it, try to encourage David. I mean, I don't want the world to be deprived of his beautiful singing voice and I'm sure you don't either. Just don't tell him I said that)! (((blows kisses)))

newsiesmoseph

P.S. For those of you who disagree with the inclusion of female newsies, it's a historic fact that there were female newsies. Didn't any of you watch the special features on the DVD(if you have it or have seen it)? Anyway, just because there weren't any in the movie, doesn't mean they didn't exist. There was originally supposed to be one, but she was cut out(sucks for her, huh? That would have been so cool). So I don't know if any of you disagree with that inclusion, but if you do, history prevails, so nyeah.


	4. Chapter Four

Hello, kind ladies of the realm(and any gentlemen there may be out there)! I welcome you most graciously to the fourth installment of the story you have come to know and love, Falling Down Stairs. Okay, enough with that. I just finished watching A Midsummer Night's Dream (Christian Bale and Dominic West speaking Shakespearean. Does it get any better than that?) and, well, I'm bored, I'm sick and I'm alone for the whole afternoon. What do I do? Write another chapter!!! But first, to my lovely reviewers:

**Kittykatnewsiegoil: **Kick ass! My story was recommended to you? Yay! Aw, I feel all fuzzy. Who _isn't_ in love with David? Well, lots of people, but that's not the point. Actually, I'm not sure there is a point, but if there was one, it would be that David rocks my world. Anyway, thanks for both your reviews and I hope you keep reading!

**Ginny: **DOWN WITH THE EVIL PRIVATE SCHOOL JERKS! Dude, you aren't getting beaten up, too, are you? Because if you are, I'm gonna have to kick some ass. No one beats up a Newsies fan and gets away with it! I'll sick Spot on them! Mwah hah! Burn in hell, Ashley and Leah! Thanks for liking it and reviewing twice! Please enjoy the ensuing chapter.

**Brunette: **Ah, the lovely Brunette strikes again! I always make sarcastic jokes at my expense. Out loud, too. I can't waste a sarcastic joke, no matter who it's directed at. Can you imagine a low budget science fiction movie like that? Oops, pause for musical moment: "SCIENCE FICTION DOUBLE FEATURE!!! DR. X!!! HE'LL BUILD A CREATURE!!! SEE ANDROIDS FIGHTING BRAD AND JA-" (((is hit with shoe))) OUCHIE!! Who threw that? Mush, was that you? (((grumbles about Mush))) Anyway, I think that if I were to have anyone's brain, it would be David's. Or Paris Hilton's, just to see what could possibly be going on in there. I go insane if I post during the day, because I'm like you. I keep checking my email every five minutes to see if there's a review alert. You are so not an egomaniac! You don't always talk about yourself. You talk about me and David too! Which are both very important subjects. Except David. So feel free to talk about me as much as you want! Just kidding, you're not an egomaniac(and for the record, neither am I). Thanks for reviewing and please keep reading!

**Dreamless-Mermaid: **Yay for my AN! It was pretty long, but oh, so worth it. (((drools at remembering kissing Jack))) Wait, you haven't been kissed by a guy that wasn't moving? As in, he was in motion at the time? Never mind, don't tell me. (((high fives Dreamless))) WOOT for never being kissed! Oh God, I love Davey in that chapter. He's just so funny. I'm sorry I gave you that mental image!!! I get unfortunate images in my head allllllll the time. As for Davey never being annoying....well, if he's anything like me, yes, he can. Ugh, I felt like _I_ needed a shower after that part. But I felt that it had to be written, so I'm sorry to you and all of my readers. And David. Even if he is on strike, I love my Davey. I felt so stupid after I wrote that Jack said "bloody" because he's not British, nor would he use any British slang. I can't help it. I say bloody all the time. WOOT for Santa Fe! I would break into song, but I've already done that and I don't want to be hit with a shoe again. Ooh, I'm reading the book Wicked right now! I mean, like, I've started it and I LOOOOOOOVE it! It's odd, though, there's actually a lot of sex in it. LOL, I will notify you and Kathy if I need you. Enjoy the chapter!

**StormShadow21: **Mary-Sue newsies are baaaaaad! I would never write a newsie Mary Sue! Never-ever! Thanks, I thought that chapter was funny, too. Oh God, I talk so much. People are always telling me to shut up. Or they don't and I just keep going and I have to tell them to shut me up. I agree with all your loving. David is the greatest. Jack is awesome. Anonymous characters are fun because you rarely have to give them a name or personality, unless you wish to think one up inside your twisted little mind. Angry newsboys are _hot_. Snog is a way better word than make out with or kiss or "mack" as some people are saying these days(my generation. It's so sad). I often wonder how Davey got that shoe scuff. Like "What could he scuff his shoe on?". But that's me and I'm weird. ROCKY HORROR KICKS SERIOUS ASS!!! Tim Curry is now my God. Did you know that Mick Jagger wanted his part in that movie? That would have been cool, but Tim prevails over all. Read and enjoy, s'il vous plait!

**LegallyRed**(I know it's you!) Yay for my funny chapter!!! And yay for obsessing over Wicked!!! I have tickets to see it in March, although it won't be the original cast, obviously. Which is disappointing, since the cast on the soundtrack is amazing, but obviously they can't bring the entire original cast to Toronto, even if it is only for like, a month. Hmm, I never thought of it being perfect for Harry Potter. I recognize the name Joey Macyntire, but I can't place it. FIYERO IS SO HOT!!! I like Norbert Leo Butz as Fiyero. And I did pick up on the brainless thing. I was like "FORSHADOWING!!! FOOOOORSHADOWING!!!!" and then I felt smart. Email me so we can talk more about Wicked!!! As I told Dreamless, I got the book Wicked for Christmas and I love it so far. I'm not very far, though. I'm in the last chapter of the first part, I believe. You're right, there _is_ a lot of sex. Like, I knew her and Fiyero had sex because, well, it says so in the song("As Long As You're Mine" which is probably my favourite song on the soundtrack), but there's so much!!! I described the part with the clock(with the farmer and the widow) to my friend and she was disturbed. Well, of course I plugged your story! Then again, I somewhat feel it's my story too, since it's about me!!!! But no one's ever written me a story before, so that was cool. Please enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Hmm, let's do a small experiment, shall we? (((calculates some stuff))) To date, I have received 54 reviews(this includes ones that are no longer on the site because I reposted, such as the casting call responses for my Christmas story and the early reviews for New York Is Calling Me(oh, speaking of that, does anyone have any ideas for a better title for that? I hate the current title and I'm looking to change it), if any of you were looking for them, which I doubt, but whatever)!!! Kisses! I love you all!!! I guess I mostly owe it to this story, considering all the reviews it's pulled in(it's tied with NYICM and that has four chapters on this one). Anyway, I just wanted to s-

**Me: **(((is knocked over by David)))What the hell?!?!

**David: **SUPPORT MY CAUSE!!! STRIKE WITH ME!!!

**Me: **David, stop hassling my readers.

**David: **I'm putting a stop to this story until you let me sing again!!!

**Me: **Are you telling me that you're going to all the effort to suspend my story so you can sing again when you can just kiss me and get it over with?

**David: **This isn't about efficiency! This is about my rights and my aversion to saliva!

**Me: **Come on, David. Let the nice people read the story. We can settle this without them.

**David: **Oh no, you're not winning me that easily.

**Me: **David, this really isn't even about you kissing me anymore. This is about you being insane.

**David: **I'M NOT INSANE!!!

**Me: **Well, not yet, but if you keep this up, you will be!

**David: **STOP TRYING TO CONFUSE ME!!!

**Me: **I'm not, I'm trying to explain to you the situation. Here's the deal: you stop the strike, I'll let you sing again and I won't sick Spot on you.

**David: **I'm not giving up that easily!

**Me: **(((sighs)))Fine. SPOT! SICK HIM!

**Spot: **(((leaps at David)))RAAAAAAAWWWRRRRR!!!!

**David: **Gah! My poor, punctured skin!

**Me: **Must...fight...urge...to...protect...David....IT'S NOT WORKING!!!

**David: **SAVE ME THEN, GOD DAMN IT!!!

**Me: **Argh, alright! GET OFF MY DAVEY!!!

**Spot: **(((stops)))Fine. Whatever. (((holds out hand)))Pay me.

**Me: **(((sighs)))Sometimes, I think this story is more time, trouble and money than it's worth.

**Spot: **Whatever. Are you paying me or not?

**Me: **Fine! (((hands over money)))

**Spot: **(((counts money)))Man, you're cheap. (((walks away)))

**David: **(((meekly)))Thank you.

**Me: **Yeah, yeah, are you still on strike?

**David: **I guess not. (((tries to regain dignity)))You may continue with your story.

**Me: **Stop trying to regain your dignity. You're not getting it back.

**David: **(((hangs head in shame)))

**Me: **Now, since that fiasco is over, please enjoy the chapter!

**David: **Oh, my poor lost dignity!

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Newsies or any of the characters, yada yada yada, I only own the original characters, the small boy, Mark, his friends, the principal, Mark's parents, Mr. Garrison and Miss Van Bemmel. Whoop-dee-doo.

* * *

Chapter Four

"Come on, sonny, get on the trolley!" the elderly driver shouted at me as I chased the trolley down the street. After much effort, I managed to grab hold of the bar and swing myself up onto the trolley. As I deposited my money, I looked around for a seat. The car was packed this morning and I could only see one available seat, in between a man holding a pitbull and a very sick looking, elderly woman. I decided to take my chances and sat between them.

The trolley ride was long, but pleasant. It was warm for a late October morning and the sun was bright and warm. I was less than happy when we arrived at my stop, even if that pitbull kept looking at me in an unnerving way. It was about a five minute walk from my stop to the school and I was enjoying my last few minutes of freedom when I was run into by a kid the size of Les.

"Oops, sorry sir," the kid said to me. He turned to go, but he stopped suddenly and studied my face. It looked like he was trying to place me, but I had never seen him before in my life. He was short and boney, his face smudged with what looked like ink. His clothes were ragged and dirty and his blond hair tousled beneath a brown, newsie hat that looked a little too big for him. A sudden smile crossed his face. "Hey, you're David Jacobs! The leader of the newsie strike!" he cried eagerly. I smiled despite myself and he put down his papers to shake my hand. "My name's Jessie. I can't believe I get to meet you! Wait til I tell the guys at the lodging house!" He smiled even bigger, picked up his papers and scampered away.

I watched him run for a bit, then turned to walk back to school. I didn't know how much time I had until the bell rang, but the sooner I got there, the better. I reached the gate and opened it cautiously, hoping that Mark wasn't there to convince the guard not to let me in. Thankfully, the guard recognized me and let me through. I thought I had made it safely through troubled waters when I foot stuck out of nowhere and tripped me.

"Hey, street urchin," Mark said as he watched me stand up.

"Tripping, Mark? Don't you think that's a little juvenile?" I asked, staring at my feet. He grabbed my arm.

"Don't try to be funny, Jacobs. Now, I think we have a problem here that needs to be dealt with," he said menacingly.

"What's that?" I asked, trying not to grimace. His breath smelled like cat food.

"Your parents talked to the principal this weekend. What did you tell them, Jacobs?" he said. His grip on my arm tightened.

"I didn't tell them anything, Mark," I replied quietly. This answer displeased him and his fist hit the side of my face. I went to hold it with my spare hand, but one of Mark's lemmings grabbed it and held it behind my back.

"What did you tell them, Jacobs?" he hissed. I remained silent this time. He punched me again, this time connecting with my jaw and making me bite my tongue. The warm blood gushed from the wound and filled my mouth. I struggled not to swallow it.

"Tell me what you said, Jacobs!" he growled and balled his fist, ready to strike again. I looked him in the eye. His face displayed the utter loathing he felt for me and I'm sure mine showed the same.

"Go to hell," I whispered. He aimed his fist at my stomach and I doubled over in pain. His crony dropped my arm, as did Mark, and they walked away, leaving me clutching my wounds. I felt the anger growing inside me until I couldn't stop myself. "Hey! Mark!" I yelled at him. He turned around with a sneer and strutted back to where I was standing. I slowly stood up and faced him. He watched me stand there, staring and panting with rage. I mustered up all my courage, took a deep breath and kneed him in the crotch.

Unfortunately, unlike Mark, I don't have minions that do my bidding, thus instead of standing there triumphantly while said imaginary minions beat Mark to a bloody pulp, I turned and ran. Mark was on the ground, writhing in pain and one of his followers stayed with him while the rest chased me down the pathway leading to the school. I wanted to slow down and just surrender, since I knew I would never outrun them, but my pride won over my sensibility and I kept running until the tackled me to the ground.

The rest of what happened was somewhat hazy. I remember being punched repeatedly for several minutes, by multiple hands. I remember trying to get up, but being held to the ground, quite possibly by someone sitting on my chest to keep me anchored. And I vaguely remember hearing the bell ring and my attackers running into the school, leaving me wounded and bleeding on the ground. That much I remember. I don't remember, as I was told, being found by the guard and carried to the nurses office, nor do I remember my wounds being tended to in my unconscious state. I don't remember anything clearly at all until I was taken to the principals office, despite the nurse's shrieks that I needed rest. Mark was sitting in one of two chairs in front of the principal's desk. My parents and two people who were presumably Mark's parents stood, talking to the principal at the same time. The principal was sitting behind his desk, looking frazzled and angry and Mr. Garrison stood silently behind him, looking smug as usual. I slowly took my seat in the chair next to Mark's and waited patiently for all the noisy babbling of our parents to stop. The principal eventually silenced them and turned to me.

"David, I know you're not a violent student," he began. "But Mark claims you attacked him viciously and Mr. Garrison supports his claim. He says he saw you attack Mark. Do you deny this?" I stared at the principal's twitching mustache for a moment, then at Mark's smug face. OK, there was no denying that I attacked Mark. And maybe Mr. Garrison didn't see when Mark provoked me before. But there was no denying that Mark's friends, and quite possibly Mark himself, beat me to unconsciousness afterwards. I didn't know how anyone would react to this accusation, since Mark is so well-respected in this community, largely on account of his parents, since no one who knows him could respect him for his actions and behaviour. "David? An answer, please?" the principal snapped.

"No," I said quietly. "I don't deny it." The principal tried to put on a solemn face, which made him look somewhat cartoonish.

"Well, David. I'm surprised. I didn't think you would risk your place at Sir Martin's, especially out of jealousy. I am forced to suspend you," he said. Jealousy?! I wanted to yell at him for accusing me of being jealous of that spoiled brat, but I knew it would earn me a longer suspension if I dared raise my voice to the principal. I remained silent as the principal handed over some papers to work on at home and Mark and his parents left the room.

* * *

The ride home was a long and silent one. My parents were obviously saving the lecture I was due for home. I couldn't keep my anger in control. I felt like hitting something, or someone, preferably Mark. I defended myself, for _once_ and I get punished. Weren't they curious as to why I attacked Mark since, as the principal said, I'm not a violent student? Didn't they wonder how I had gotten so bruised and cut? Shouldn't they care?! _No_, I thought bitterly. _They don't care_. We arrived home and I stumbled inside. The injuries had gone to my head and I was still dizzy. My parents removed their coats, as did I, and sat me down on the couch. They stood angrily, hands on hips, towering above me.

"David...I just don't know what to say. I can't believe you would do this kind of thing. This isn't like you," my father scolded. I nodded. No, it wasn't like me. But I wasn't sure who I was anymore. "Is this boy the same Mark who was hurting you before? Is that why you did this? Did he do this to you?" he questioned, gesturing to my facial abrasions, his voice softening. I didn't make any sort of response, but my mother seemed to think my silence meant I needed comforting. She sat down on the couch beside and wrapped her arms around me.

"David, please tell us. We don't want you to be hurt anymore," she said softly in my ear. I sat there for a moment, in silence, pondering whether or not she really meant it. I supposed she did, since she was my mother, but did anyone else care? My family, yes, and I don't think any of the guys wanted to see me die, least of all Jack. Miss Van Bemmel might miss me, since we always talk and I am sort of her pet and the principal certainly wouldn't be happy to see me dead. But I'm sure I'd be a pebble out of Mr. Garrison's shoe and Mark would hold a celebration in honour of the expulsion of the riff raff from their precious school. I was so consumed in counting my friends and my enemies that I didn't notice when my mother let go of me.

"David?" she asked, jolting me out of my thoughts. I looked up at her, then at my father, and back and forth.

"I'm fine," I finally answered. I almost hit myself. _David, what are you doing?! Why won't you just admit this?! No one will think any worse of you!! What's keeping you from telling someone, anyone?!_

"David, you're not fine, look at you, the guard found you un-"

"I'm fine," I repeated, cutting off my father's reasoning. He didn't argue this time, just left me and my mother alone while he fixed a drink for himself. He came back, holding the glass in trembling hands.

"Well, if you're suspended for a week, then you may as well make use of yourself. Go sell papers with your friends if you're so set on seeing them again," he told me angrily. I nodded and stood to slip my coat and shoes back on. My father watched me go and I thought I heard a glass breaking as I left the apartment.

* * *

The day had suddenly turned cold. I buttoned my coat quickly to shield me against the harsh winds. I went towards the distribution gate, but remembered that I didn't have any money with me to buy papers and it wasn't open at this time of day anyway. Thus, I settled for wandering the city until I found someone to sell with. I was walking for about ten minutes when I found Jack in Central Park. Odd, since it's not his usual selling spot, but at least I had found someone. I walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around(Jack's sort of the jumpy type) and looked surprised to see me.

"What're you doin' here, Dave? I thought you'se was in school tahday," he said, his brow furrowing. I cleared my throat nervously.

"I, uh, got suspended," I replied. Jack looked even more confused.

"Suspended?" he asked.

"Yeah, as in I can't go back to school for a week," I explained.

"Why?" he asked, looking suspicious. Should I tell him I kicked a guy in the groin? He'd be proud, but I was worried that he'd demand to know why and I'd be screwed. Because, of course, he'd tell Sarah and she'd tell my parents and they'd go all psychologist on me and that was the last thing I needed.

"I talked back to my teacher," I quickly lied. "He's a bit of a jackass." Jack raised his eyebrows.

"_You_ talked back to a teachah?" he asked, not really believing my lie. I nodded.

"Yeah, I did. I am capable of defending myself," I argued. It was true, but not in that certain scenario. Jack still didn't look convinced, but didn't press it any further.

"So what made you come 'ere?" he asked.

"My parents want me to be doing something this week instead of lying around the apartment," I explained. "Besides, if I had a choice, I'd be here anyway." Jack smiled.

"It's too bad you had tah go back tah school, Dave," he said. "New York's missed a damn fine newsie." I smiled back at him. Not true, but a nice thought. Jack handed over a few papers, reminding me that he got twenty percent of my profits, since he did pay for them. We wandered around Central Park, laughing and hawking papers. It felt great to think that I was coming back to this the next day and every day for the following week. We started to leave when it got dark and walked in the direction of my apartment.

"So I see you'se got more bruises tah add tah your collection," Jack observed. "How did dat happen? Fall down da stairs again?"

"Well, I-"

"Where are you, Jacobs?!" yelled a drunken voice, cutting through the night. I turned around slowly to see Mark and a nameless friend staggering towards us. I could feel my face pale and goose bumps raise on my arms. I thought I was safe in Manhattan. After all, Mark and his friends lived in Queens and stayed away from Manhattan, as did most of the well-to-do types in his area. What was he doing venturing outside of the safety of Queens? And how did he get so drunk? Well, no need to answer that one. Raiding his father's liquor cabinet, I guessed.

"Dave? Who are dey?" Jack whispered to me.

"Um, the one who just fell down is Mark and I don't know the name of the other one," I whispered back.

"And, uh, why are dey lookin' foah ya?" he asked. I paused.

"They've got a score to settle," I replied cryptically.

"Jacobs!" Mark yelled. "Get over here, _now_!" I looked at Jack out of the corner of my eye. He looked back and shook his head. I bit my lip. I would probably get beaten up, but at least I would have a chance to hurt Mark a little. I began to walk unsteadily towards him. A hand grabbed my arm.

"Dave, don'. I don' trust dese guys," Jack said. I turned around.

"Neither do I, but it's much easier if I don't put up much resistence," I replied.

"Well, den, let me go wit you," he said, walking forward. This time, I grabbed him.

"No, Jack. This is my fight, not yours," I reasoned.

"If it's your fight, den it's mine too," Jack fought back. I would have told him to stay back if he hadn't gone charging forward.

"Hey, Jacobs! Who's this? Your boyfriend?" Mark slurred. His friend snorted with laughter and Jack smiled.

"No, I ain't his boyfriend. Is dis yours?" Jack asked sweetly, gesturing to Mark's friend. Was his name Bill? Maybe it was Aaron. Hmm, I'll have to look into getting a name tag for him.

"Watch it, buddy," Mark said, his laughter and giddiness wearing off. "You don't wanna mess with us." Jack was still smiling. He looked slightly insane.

"No, you'se got it wrong, _buddy_. You don' wanna mess wit me and Dave," he said, his voice menacing through his seemingly genuine grin.

"What, Jacobs? That kid couldn't knock me down with a pound of bricks," he hissed at Jack. I saw this moment to speak for myself and walked up beside Jack.

"Hmm, that's not what it seemed like this morning, when you were lying on the ground in pain," I snarled at him. Mark's face morphed into an ugly sneer.

"You want a repeat of this morning, street rat?" Mark asked, moving away from Jack and advancing on me. I was tempted to back away, but I stood my ground. "If I recall, I saw you this morning on the pavement, flat on your back, unconscious and bleeding. Or at least that's what I remember. I was a bit too busy beating you half to death to bother remembering details." By this time, Mark was an inch away from my face. His breath stank of rum and he was having a bit of trouble keeping his eyes in focus. Still, I knew he could hurt me badly if he wanted to. I looked behind him at Jack. He looked hurt. I guess now he knew the truth. Mark followed my gaze back to Jack's pained face. His sneer turned into a gleeful smile.

"Oh! Jacobs didn't tell you?" he exclaimed, prancing back over to Jack. "Your _boyfriend_ has been serving as my punching bag for the past two months. And if it helps, he's been most useful."

I didn't see exactly how it happened, but after a flurry of movement, Jack was soon sitting on Mark's chest, his fist raised, ready to strike again. Aaron or Bill or whatever his name was trying to pull Jack off Mark's back(quite unsuccessfully, considering how drunk he was) and Mark was laying underneath Jack, cowering.

"Jack! Stop it!" I cried, realizing I sounded a bit like the heroine in a tragic play. Jack looked up at me, then back down at Mark. He looked back at me again and slowly got off of him. I half expected Jack to spit in Mark's face, but he didn't get much of a chance, considering the punch Mark delivered directly to Jack's stomach. Jack bent over slightly, wincing in pain, but didn't retaliate.

"I'll see you next week, Jacobs. We'll be waiting for you," Mark growled, wiping blood from his nose and stumbling away. The silence was comforting. Jack glared at their retreating forms, then turned his gaze back to me. He still looked hurt and angry.

"Dese are da guys who'se been hoitin' you?" he yelled. I flinched.

"Well, there's more of them, but basically, yeah, they are," I replied quietly. Jack wiped his nose, then turned his back to the wind to light a cigarette.

"I can't believe you lied tah me, Dave," he said, sounding very hurt.

"What, like you lied to me?" I spat back. I was still a bit bitter about that, even though he apologized and I forgave him.

"Dat was different, Dave. I wasn't lyin' about anythin' important," he replied.

"Nothing important?!" I shouted furiously. "You lied about your parents, you lied about your past, you lied about your name! You lied about everything!"

"Yeah, but none of dat coulda gotten me killed, could it?!" he shouted back. I grew quiet, as did he. The only sound was Jack sucking smoke out his cigarette.

"Jack, it's my business-" I began.

"You shoulda told me, Dave," Jack interrupted. "Why didn' you?" Tough question.

"I was embarrassed, to put it simply. Embarrassed and sick of being protected by everyone," I explained. Jack was silent.

"Dave, if dey was hoitin you, I coulda helped," he told me, sitting on the curb.

"How?" I asked, sitting down beside him. "You have to be here, you can't come all the way to Queens with me every other day. And those guys rarely venture outside of Queens. How were you supposed to help? I appreciate it, Jack, but there was nothing you could do."

"Well, you coulda at least tol' your folks," he reasoned. I shook my head.

"They would complain to the school and the school either wouldn't do anything or they would scold Mark a bit and everyone would hate me more," I told him. "Either way, I'd still be in school and that halfwit would still beat me half to death every day. In fact, I expect I'll be getting double on Monday after what you did."

"I was only tryin' tah help Dave, I didn-"

"I know, Jack. I know."

He offered me a drag on his cigarette. I would have refused, but I felt that if I was going to smoke at any time, now would be it. I took it in my fingers awkwardly and sucked in the smoke. It filled my lungs and I began to cough violently. Jack laughed and patted me on the back. I smiled despite the searing pain and handed the cigarette back to him.

"Well, if it helps, I kicked him in the groin today," I told him. Jack looked at me in surprise. "That's what got me suspended." Jack put an arm around me.

"Way to go, Davey. We may make a man outta you, yet."

* * *

Oh God, I was almost in tears when I was writing this chapter. My poor David!!! And may I mention that this is the longest chapter I have ever written. Including the AN and the shout-outs, it's 5293 words long. And now I feel depressed because this chapter is sad. I need some cheering up!!! (((weeps)))

**David: **Uh, Moseph?

**Me: **(((still crying)))What?

**David: **Well, I've been feeling really bad about this and, well....(((grabs Moseph's head and kisses her for a long time, eventually pulls away)))Well? How was it?

**Me: **(((not crying anymore, dumbfounded)))Uhhhhh.....

**David: **(((to readers)))I think that's "That was some spectacular kissing, and please review, readers" in Mosephese.

**Me: **(((grabs David's head and kisses him again)))

**David: **(((pulls away frantically)))Hey, hey, once was enough! I just felt bad that I hurt your feelings and, well, since you protected me...I felt I kind of owed you. (((blushes)))

**Me: **Awww! Here's your dignity back!

**David: **Yay! Review, folks!

newsiesmoseph

P.S. I in no way condone people calling other people gay or insinuating that they are as an insult. I find it disgusting, ignorant and juvenile. Just clearing that up.


	5. Chapter Five

NAH NAH NAH NAH! NAH NAH! NAH NAH! CAN'T TOUCH THIS! NAH NAH NAH NAH! NAH NAH! NAH NAH! CAN'T TOUCH THIS! (((stops doing Running Man)))Oh! Hello reader! I didn't see you there! Welcome back! Now, after the dramatics of the last chapter, I'm sure you're wondering what will happen to our hero next. Well, you'll have to get through the shout outs first!

**LegallyRed: **I _knew_ I knew Joey Macyntire! New Kids On The Block rocks! Aw, I saw a picture of the letter the little boy sent Idina. That was adorable! EW! Maybe I don't want to read the rest of it if the sex gets that weird! No, I do, but EW! (((screams in pain)))DAVID MOSCOW IS ENGAGED?!?!?! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Oh, now I'm so upset! I can't believe he would do this to me! No, no, I want him to be happy. But...he could be happy with me! Hey, I thought it kicked ass when David kneed Mark in the crotch! I mean, way to hit him where it hurts! HA! HA HA HA! When you called them Elphie and Glinda? Oh, that's grand. There is an awful lot of Jack hugging going on here. Not that I mind. (((hugs Jack))) I don't know why, but the thought of Jack saying "Amen" is funny. David always has great sarcasm. He and I are sarcastic buddies! WOOT! (((high fives Davey))) Hah! You called Jack a punk! Thanks, I'm particularly proud of that chapter. But, that may change, depending on how spectacular this chapter is. Oh, we will SO talk about Wicked when I'm finished! Wish me luck on this chapter, huh?

**Brunette: **Of course you're lovely! Anyone who likes Davey and my story is automatically lovely in my books. I was so proud of Davey for sticking up for himself in that chapter! Unfortunately, like he said, he's probably going to be beaten up even more when his suspension ends. Not to ruin anything for you, but that's what _he_ said. I'm just taking his word for it. I think David and Jack are _both_ great guys. They go on my Great Guy Wall of Fame. Maybe I should look into creating one. Um, yeah, me gusta back at ya, whatever that means.

**Dreamless-Mermaid: **Aw, don't skip over the weird parts! The weird parts are what make it grand! I was totally thinking of Peter Parker when I wrote that part. Same goes for Madam Pomfrey. No, I wasn't taking lines from the movie. (((suspicious eye dart))) Aw, I would hate to kill off a Newsies character! If Davey dies, I'll be so sad. And I must agree, that was the best dramatic acting I've ever seen. There should be an award for acting or something. Maybe if it suggest it to the Academy, they'll run with it! Who knows, in a year or two it could be an international event! Hey, I thought it was cool that David got suspended too. Well, granted, it was incredibly unfair that he got suspended and he didn't do anything except defend himself, but at least he gets to be a newsie for a week! He _does _look sexy with dirt smudges on his face. And he looks sexy in an undershirt. Hey, look, I updated already! Enjoy!

**Kittykatnewsiegoil: **Hey, cool, story time with Moseph and David! That chapter was so sad, I almost started to cry. Well, not almost, but I was thinking about it. Enjoy the new chapter!

**Ginny: **Well, I am helpless to resist a plea for my writing. So I _guess_ I'll keep it up. But just for you. (((winks))) Good, I'm so glad you aren't getting pummelled! Well, if it's verbal abuse, please tell me you have some really good comebacks. If not, I'll help you think of some! (((shakes head))) Bloody favouritism. It happens everywhere, even here in jolly old Newmarket. Man, just tell me your school's address and I'll come and beat them up for you! They can't suspend me if I don't go to your school. But, you know, I'm not very quick or flexible or nimble or anything and I'm not really useful in fights....I can degrade them with witty comments, though! Look, all your dreams come true! I updated again! Do me a favour and since I updated _just_ for you, review, will ya?

**StormShadow21: **I _love_ A Midsummer Night's Dream! Yes, Christian was shirtless for quite a bit(you wanna talk about ripped? Go see American Psycho!) but sadly, not as shirtless as Dominic West. I mean, Dominic West is hot and all, but if Christian was shirtless as often as him...(((faints at thought of it))) (((manages to revive self for rest of review))) Mick Jagger kicks ass!!! I went to see the Rolling Stones in concert in 2002(that's right, I was twelve) and Mick was struttin' away and some woman actually threw her granny panties on stage! Of course, no one can replace Tim as Dr. Frank. Aw, I loves me Spotty! (((clutches heart))) I know, I hate Mark and the principal is an idiot. And I want to see Mr. Garrison die. But somehow, they're the most fun characters to write. Of course Davey has his pride. I don't want him to be a little wussy. I mean, he's not Jonathan. I love when Jack and Davey stand up to Mark and that guy(I think I'm going to settle on Aaron for him, as a tribute to the actor who portrays our beloved Mush) together. And, of course, Jack kicks serious ass. I love when he beats up Mark because he insulted David. Yay for Davey kissin' me! _I _was sad when I was writing that chapter, mostly because they beat David to unconsciousness. No girlfriends for David. I don't want this to be a romantic story. Besides, I own David. And Jack. And Racetrack. It's like my own little male harem. Speaking of kissing all the newsies...

OK, as suggested by StormShadow21, I'm going to make it my goal to kiss all the newsies!!! I've already got 2 down and 18 to go. Since there's so many of them, I'm going to make this organized. I'm going to have an order in which I kiss them, that must be followed or the whole thing will fall apart. A few ground rules:

1)The minimum newsies I must kiss per chapter is one, the maximum is three. So, that means lots of chapters(oh the pressure!) but also lots of kisses!  
2)It must be a _full on_ kiss. That means more than a peck. The only exception to this rule is the little ones(meaning Boots, Snipeshooter, and Les), in which case a peck is acceptable.  
3)No double kissing. I can't kiss any one newsie more than once until all the newsies have been kissed once. Then, if someone has a closet for rent, I'll take it!

OK, since I'm weird, I'm going to do this alphabetically by the actor's first name, just to mix it up. Here's zee list!

1)Mush  
2)Boots  
3)Pie Eater  
4)Snitch  
5)Bumlets  
6)Itey  
7)Spot  
8)Dutchy  
9)Jake  
10)Swifty  
11)Les  
12)Specs  
13)Crutchy  
14)Snipeshooter  
15)Racetrack  
16)Skittery  
17)Snoddy  
18)Kid Blink

Oh, poor Blinky's last! Too bad I can't kiss Jack and David again. I'd have another round with them! (((wiggles eyebrows suggestively))) Aw, and Racetrack's #15! I'm so sad, I want him to be first! But at least I've got Mushy! So I'll only do one this chapter to start and I'm going to leave it until the end. Um, what next? Oh yeah, the story!

* * *

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, yeah, I don't own Newsies. (((muttering))) No need to rub my face in it. (((un-muttering))) Anyways, I definitely don't own Newsies or any of it's characters, despite what I said in my shout out to StormShadow21. I _do_ own Mark, Mr. Garrison, Miss Van Bemmel, Mark's side kick who I've decided to name Aaron and any other original characters.

* * *

Chapter Five

Les woke me up early the next morning, yelling excitedly about me going selling with him.

"I can show you the ropes, David!" he exclaimed, charging out of the room into the kitchen, where breakfast was being served by my mother. Pah, that kid. I swear, he's got short-term memory loss. The period of time I spent as a newsie seems to be wiped from his memory.

I quickly changed into my regular pants and blue shirt, which I think brings out the colour in my eyes, but don't tell anyone I said that. After a few moments of indecision, I decided not to wear the vest today. I grabbed my hat, stuck it in my back pocket and walked into the kitchen of the apartment for breakfast.

The second I walked into the room, all the chattering stopped. Sarah turned back to the dishes she was washing, Mama stared uncomfortably at her eggs, Papa chose to ignore me and continue reading yesterday's newspaper and Les kept munching his bacon, oblivious to my presence. I sat down uncomfortably and took a sip of the full glass of orange juice set before me. After much more uneasy silence, I put on my hat and dragged Les out the door, as he stuffed the rest of his bacon in his mouth.

Jack was waiting at the front door for us. According to Les, this was a morning ritual. I walked beside Jack, Les trailing behind us, fencing the air with that wooden sword he carries _everywhere_.

"Remember, we don't mention a _word_ to the guys about Mark, okay?" I instructed. Jack squinted in the sunlight.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Because, Jack," I sighed, "it's my business."

"Alrigh', so what're we gonna tell 'em?" Jack inquired.

I pondered for a moment and replied, "We can tell them it's a school holiday this week. They won't know the difference."

Jack thought about it and eventually agreed. I figured they were going to find out at one point or another, but I'd rather wait until it's all over so I can look like the tragic hero, not the victim.

As we approached the gates, I became more and more aware of how prominent my battle wounds were. I was sure to earn some odd looks from the boys. Unlike Jack, I can't walk in with a face full of abrasions and explain it away with a well placed lie involving a gang from the Bronx and a pointy stick. The guys wouldn't buy it if I told them I got in a fight, even if I did explain how badly I got my ass kicked.

I touched my lip. I wasn't bleeding anymore, but I could feel how swollen it was. Before we made it to the gates, I caught my reflection in a store window. Nothing was bleeding, but my lips were indeed swollen, like they'd been stung by a bee. There was a large gash above my eyebrow, a bruise on my left cheek and various small cuts scattered around my facial area. I had a black eye and a slightly bent nose. Surprisingly, I didn't feel like I was in that much pain. I guess the nurse must have given me something after they found me unconscious in front of the school.

"Hey Dave, I'm gonna go get in line, okay?" Jack said, clapping me on the shoulder. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"No, don't leave me all alone. I can't survive without you," I said, sarcastic and deadpan. Jack glared at me and joined the line, shoving a few guys around in that fake-macho guy way. I briefly considered joining him, but I saw him counting his change and figured he would be buying for Les and me today. It was like I was the new guy all over again.

I watched Les scamper off to join in another escapade with his other small friends. I yawned and leaned casually against a wall. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. I lazily observed the comings and goings of New York. It was fairly busy considering it was early on a Tuesday morning, even for New York City. The crowd was mostly newsies, jumping around excitedly, wiping sleep out of their eyes, sneaking fresh loaves of bread into their pockets and jangling change from the newspapers already sold. A girl sitting alone in front of a café caught my eye. She was slumped over in a small, wiry chair, a cup of steaming liquid set in front of her. She was dressed perfectly, her hair done up just right. She was pretty, that was for sure, but she looked upset and lonely. Strangely, I felt a little sympathetic. Maybe it was because she was really pretty or maybe because I was feeling pretty courageous lately, but I found myself walking towards her.

"Don't do this, Davey. She's obviously loaded," my inner self reasoned, but it was too late for that. I was only a few feet away from her table and she was bound to notice me any minute now. I continued walking, trying to look confidant, but concerned. I cast a shadow over the cup of what looked like tea she was staring at. She barely blinked. I cleared my throat in an attempt to get her attention. She glanced up at me, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"I don't want a newspaper, thank you," she said dismissively and quickly went back to staring at her tea. I managed to find my voice.

"Uh, I don't have any newspapers yet. I came over because...I thought you looked upset," I said lamely. Brilliant, David. Bloody brilliant. Now she'll think you're some kind of stalker.

"Well, I'm not. So I guess you can leave me alone now," she said coldly, her gaze not leaving the delicate cup. I was beginning to get frustrated with this girl, no matter how pretty she was.

"Look, if you want to talk-" I began.

"I don't. I _do_ want to sit here and drink my tea in silence, though, thank you," she snapped. I clenched my teeth.

"I'm just trying to help," I managed.

"Just leave me alone," she said, glaring at me, getting out of her chair and storming away. I thought briefly that I should have gone after her, but I reasoned that she would probably punch me. So I stood there at the tiny table, looking like an idiot, watching her walk away. I heard a chuckle behind me.

"Nice goin', Dave. You've really got a way with the ladies," Jack said sarcastically. I was mildly impressed. I had no idea he even understood my sarcasm, let alone knew how to use it to mock me. I glared at him and grabbed the stack of papers he was holding out.

"Yeah, because I'm sure you could tame the wild beastette," I snapped. Jack snorted.

"Prob'ly damn bettah den you," he said, smirking.

"Oh yeah?" I retorted brilliantly. "I'd like to see you try." Jack shook his head.

"I could charm any goil on dis street in a second," he boasted. I snorted in disbelief. He narrowed his eyes. "You wanna bet on dat, Dave?" I stepped forward.

"Alright. A dollar says you can't get that girl to fall for you," I said, pointing in the direction the girl had left in. Jack simply smiled.

"No problem, Dave. No problem at all."

* * *

I was just finishing making a sale to an elderly woman when I saw Jack storming back towards me, holding his cheek.

"Damn broad," he muttered under his breath, sitting in the chair she'd vacated. I laughed quietly and walked over behind him.

"How'd it go?" I asked tauntingly. Jack turned around and glared at me.

"I was _thisclose_ to gettin' her. I was bein' all nice, apologizin' for your behaviour and everythin'" he said. I snorted.

"So then what happened?"

"Well, I merely suggested dat we get somethin' tah eat and she slaps me! Da damn broad slaps me!" Jack sounded really insulted. "She mus' have some hidden power for resistin' men!"

"Well, Jack, I can't blame her. I mean, if she could resist me, you had no chance at all," I said mockingly. Jack glared at me again.

"My heart wasn't into it," he insisted. "Yeah, dat's it. I'm devoted to yah sistah."

"Yeah, of course," I said sarcastically. "That was totally it. It was my sister that did it, not the fact that she could have _actually_ been upset or not attracted to you."

"Hey, this is no laughing mattah, Dave," Jack said warningly. "You do not crack jokes when a guy's losing his touch."

"Ah, yes, of course not," I said knowingly. "Well, I'm off to sell papers. Oh, and by the way, you'd better hope you sell a lot today, since you owe me a buck." I patted Jack on the back and skipped off with a big grin.

* * *

"But Mama!" I whined.

"No buts, David, you are going back to school tomorrow," she said, pointing a spoon at me for emphasis. I sighed painfully and slumped over the kitchen table. I'd spent a relaxing, Mark-free week selling with the guys and tomorrow, I was being forced to go back to that hell hole where I was likely to have the crap beaten out of me _again_. My mother took no notice of my angst and stirred the soup, humming to herself. I heard the key in the lock and the door opened.

"Hello, everyone," Papa said warmly, hanging up his jacket. Sarah followed him, removing her scarf and jacket and hanging them next to Papa's. Mam left her soup for a moment to hug and kiss Sarah and Papa. I continued to attempt to attract attention by slumping over the table, looking anguished and Les didn't even glance up. Papa and Sarah joined me at the table, taking no notice of me, the tormented soul.

"How was the store today?" Mama asked from the kitchen. Since the factory wouldn't take Papa back after his arm healed, he took what little money we had, bought the old bakery across the street and turned it into a general store. Mama and Sarah helped out from time to time, when they weren't busy with washing and sewing and whatever else they do when the rest of us are out.

"Pretty good. We had a few big sales today, didn't we Sarah?" he replied. Sarah nodded. "Maybe one of these days, if my rogue, hooligan son shapes up, he can learn to work the cash register," he added with a wink at me. I was a bit shocked. This was the first time he'd joked about anything with me since I was suspended. I chuckled a bit.

"Alright everyone, supper time!" Mama called, beginning to ladle out soup into each of the five bowls. She placed a bowl in front of me and I eagerly dug in, tasting the warm, heavy soup. It was like heaven. I gobbled it down, barely taking in my family's comments.

"Well, David, don't you think that's a good idea?" my mother's voice said, intruding on my eating. I looked up, spoon halfway to my mouth.

"Um, what?" I asked, taking another swallow of soup.

"For you to board at school," she answered. I almost choked. Sarah had to thump on my back quite a few times before I stopped coughing.

"What are you _talking_ about?" I asked, my face still red.

"We were just discussing it, dear," Mama said, looking confused. "Weren't you listening?"

"Um, no. I was enjoying a peaceful meal," I explained. "Board at school?!" Papa looked at Mama uneasily and leaned forward.

"Look, David, we talked to the principal yesterday when you were out selling. There's a vacancy and he seems to agree that it's a good idea," he explained. I stared, bug-eyed at them both.

"_What?!_ Mama, Papa, how could this possibly be good for me?" I demanded.

"We think it would be good for you to get to know your classmates so we don't have any more incidents. It would help you to fit in more, as well, and teach you some independence from us and your friends," Mama elaborated.

"My _friends_?! Ma, Papa, my friends are the only things keeping me alive and sane right now! Please, don't take them away from me!" I begged. Papa didn't look swayed.

"David, we've already arranged for you to stay there. You'll be shown your room tomorrow after school," Papa told me.

"So, what, you asked me what I thought just to see my reaction?!" I yelled, standing up.

"David, please don't yell," Mama said calmly.

"No! No, I have a right to yell and be angry! What even makes you think that I want to fit in with the boys at school?! Why are you trying to take my friends away from me?!"

"Well, basically, we don't think they're a good influence."

"And what, spoiled, idiotic brats who throw rocks at squirrels for fun are? At least my friends have morals and know what it's like to work for a day in your life! Isn't that important to you?! And they actually like me and stick up for me! Why do you want me to be there?!"

"David, we've already explained this to you, we don't have to explain again."

"You can't just _do_ this to me! How do you know I won't leave and live at the lodging house?"

"You'll be monitored. If you leave, someone will alert us and the police and you'll be tracked down."

"So basically I'm a criminal?"

"You certainly behaved like one last week!"

"So Papa can hurt people for his cause, but I can't?!"

"Your father has a cause, if you have one, you won't tell us. What else are we supposed to do but assume you attacked?"

"Because I'm your _son_! You could at least give me the benefit of the doubt!"

"Please, David, you won't give anyone the benefit of the doubt, you're so paranoid that-"

"STOP IT! JUST STOP IT! ALL OF YOU!!!"

I turned to see my sister, standing and shaking with anger.

"Sarah, what's wrong with you?" Papa demanded, also standing. By this time, Les was the only one sitting, having helped himself to a second bowl of soup during our argument.

"What's wrong with _me_? What's wrong with _you_? All of you!" she yelled. "I have to listen to this all day long and for what? Because David defended himself? Because they want what's best for you? Maybe you should _listen_ to each other for a change and figure out what's really going on instead of just yelling at each other! God!" Sarah stormed out of the room and slammed her bedroom door behind her. I watched her leave, then turned back to face my parents, both of whom looked utterly shocked.

"I'll be out on the fire escape," I muttered to them, walking over to the window and opening it. "Don't bother me," I added as I climbed out into the bitter air.

* * *

"Hey, David!" a familiar voice said in a stage whisper. I looked around and saw Jack standing on the stairs. I looked at him and gave him a small smile.

"Hey Jack," I said, staring out at the dark, cloudy sky. I heard Jack climb up the stairs and felt him sit down beside me.

"What'sa mattah?" he asked. I bit my lip for a moment, trying to think of how to explain it to Jack.

"I have to go board at school," I said finally. Jack looked puzzled. "My school has dorm rooms that are available to students. My parents are making me stay there. I won't see you again until....Christmas, I guess, and even then my time will be limited. Who knows, they might even make me stay for the Christmas holidays. I might not see you again until June." Jack sat in complete silence.

"Why?" he finally managed.

"They said they think it will help me to fit in with my classmates and teach me some independence from them and you guys," I said, my voice shaking with emotion.

"Are dey idiots? Dey're gonna make you live wid guys who want tah beat you tah death because dey think you'se not independent?! If dey want you tah be independent, dey should have you come live at dah lodging house!" he shouted. I put my hand over his mouth, hoping my parents wouldn't hear.

"Shhh! Jack, don't be so loud!" I hissed. Jack stopped shouting and fell silent. I removed my hand and continued. "They don't know that Mark wants to kill me. They want me to be independent from _you_ too. I guess they think you look after me too much. Plus, they think you're a bad influence." Jack looked insulted.

"Hey, I kept you from bein' killed! And I'se a bad influence? Dey loved me after dah strike!" he cried. Once again, I had to shush him.

"Look, don't ask me to understand my parents, that's just not natural. All I know is, there's nothing I can do about it. If I leave the school, they'll call the police and I might end up worse off than I am now. I'm sorry, Jack. I guess this is the last time I'll see you or anyone for a while," I said mournfully. Jack looked up.

"Come to dah lodging house," he said eagerly.

"What? I can't leave now! They'll call the cops on me now and make me live there permanently!" I argued.

"Not foah forevah. Just foah tonight. Tah say goodbye to dah guys," he said. I pondered for a moment. "C'mon, Dave!"

"Alright, I'll go," I agreed. "But I can't go for long." Jack grinned and started running down the fire escape. I sighed, wondering how I always ended up going along with him and got up, following him down the stairs.

* * *

"Are you serious, Dave?" Racetrack asked, bug-eyed. I nodded solemnly. The guys looked around worriedly at each other.

"What'll they do tah you?" Mush asked. I shrugged.

"I don't know yet. It won't be good, though. After what happened on Monday, I won't be surprised at anything," I said. The newsies had been informed of my encounters with Mark at school, my suspension, meeting with him on Monday night and now of having to live at school. Now, they were brainstorming ideas of how to bust me out.

"And dey'll call dah bulls if you leave?" Blink asked again. I nodded.

"Guys, I don't think there's anything you can do. I'm stuck there," I said.

"Well, yeah, you may be stuck there, but we can figure out some way to come find you if you need help!" Skittery piped up. A few guys nodded.

"Yeah, we can have some kinda signal!" Crutchy agreed.

"But how is that going to work? You guys live in Manhattan, I'll be in Queens," I said.

"Hey, Dave, you can write lettahs to yah folks and stuff, right?" Jack asked, getting his plan face. I nodded. "Well, you can jus' write a lettah tah us if yah need help and we'll come get yah!" he finished, beaming at his brilliant plan. I, however, was sceptical.

"I don't know, Jack. Mail takes weeks," I debated.

"Well, if dat Mark guy is hoitin' you real bad and you can't fight back no more, den you write to us and we'll get dere as soon as we can," he said.

"Jack, there's at least half a dozen of these guys, all of them wanting to kill me," I said.

"Well, dere's more of us den dem," he argued right back. "We can handle 'em!" The rest of the guys were now nodding along with him.

"Guys, I just don't think this will work," I said.

"It has to work, Dave," Jack said. "We ain't gonna let you die dere. We'se de only ones who know and we'se got a duty as yah friends tah defend you. If we don't do nuttin', who will?" I sighed.

"Alright, we can give it a shot. But there's no guarantee that it'll work," I said.

"We gotta try, Dave," Jack said simply. "Now, do yah have da address?"

* * *

The mood in the carriage was chilly. I stared out the window, trying not to look my parents in the eye. My suitcase was resting heavily on my foot as the carriage jostled it's way towards the school. I looked out of the corner of my eye at Sarah. She was staring out the other window with a look of pure hatred. I wasn't sure what she was so angry about. She wasn't the one who would never get to see her friends again.

"Why isn't Les coming?" she asked quietly.

"He's out selling papers," Mama replied in just as quiet a voice. Figures. Neither my father nor I reacted to this information. I wondered briefly why Sarah was here. Probably to keep me from killing my parents and vice versa. The carriage stopped in front of the school and I pulled my suitcase onto my lap. My mother and Sarah slid out the door, followed by Papa and me last. I stared at the red brick building. My stomach dropped. I set my suitcase at my feet as my mother started fussing over my appearance.

"Now, behave yourself," she said in that annoyingly maternal voice that mothers seem to have. "Make sure you brush your teeth everyday and keep your clothes neat. And please try to get along with the other boys, David. Don't be a hermit." I simply nodded at her instructions. I had given up trying to argue my way out of this. I merely accepted every instruction my parents gave me. My mother hugged me and kissed me on the cheek and moved out of the way so my father could give me a similar run down of how I was to behave here. Sarah then stepped forward and gave me a hug.

"Please, David, don't do anything stupid," she whispered. I hugged her back.

"What do you mean? When have I ever done anything stupid?" I whispered back playfully.

"Don't joke now, David," she scolded. "I don't want you to go."

"What, and you think I do?" I whispered.

"David, stop it! Like I said, I don't want you to go. I wish you could stay in Manhattan where you have Jack to talk to, since you won't talk to the rest of us. But you don't have much of a choice. So if anything ever happens, find a way to let me or Jack or someone know so we can help you," she whispered tearfully.

"What do you think will happen to me?" I murmured.

"You might get hurt again. Don't let anyone hurt you again, David," she said.

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Well, it wasn't hard to figure out," she said, stepping back a little and smiling. "You looked terrible. Besides, Jack told me." I muttered under my breath. See, this is the problem of your sister dating your best friend. They talk about you.

"Don't worry about me, Sarah. I can hold my own. Besides, I worked something out with the guys so they can help me if I need it," I told her. Sarah smiled.

"I'm really going to miss you, Davey," she said. I nodded.

"Me too, Sarah. Write to me, will you?" I asked. She nodded back. I picked up my suitcase, pecked my mother and Sarah each on the cheek one last time, said goodbye and pushed open the gate. This was my new home. Welcome to hell.

* * *

Gee, what a great ending to a chapter. Stay tuned for the next chapter where we meet David's roommate and he gets introduced to dorm life. See ya! ((waves))

**Mush: **((appearing)) Ahem.

**Me: **Yeah Mush?

**Mush: **I think you're forgetting something.

**Me: **((blank look)) Like what?

**Mush: **Like me? And my lips? Soon to be on yours? Otherwise known as a kiss?

**Me: **((blinks))

**Mush: **Check the list, idiot!

**Me: **((checks list)) Oh yeah! I forgot about that!

**Mush: **((muttering)) Thanks, that makes me feel so loved.

**Me: **Well, no offense Mush, but I'm not really in the mood for kissing. I'm actually pretty tired, so if we could-

**Mush: **((rips off shirt)) Does this help?

**Me: **((mouth open, nods)) Uh huh...wow. Those are some nice abs, Mush.

**Mush: **Shut up and kiss me, you fool.

((They kiss. A lot))

**Me: **((finally pulls away)) Oh, Mushy, I think you may be the one to convert me!

**David and Jack: **((wander on in undershirts))

**Me: **On the other hand, perhaps not

**Elliott: **((wanders on in undershirt))

**Me: **So...many...hot...men. Head...going...to...explode.

**Elliott: **Wait a minute...what the hell am I doing here?! ((wanders off))

**Me: **No! Elliott! My lover! ((runs after Elliott))

**David: **For those who are confused, Elliott is, as described by Moseph, the hottest person she has ever seen in 3D. She met him while doing the play Bye Bye Birdie. He was her dance partner during Lot Of Livin'. He hugged her twice through his own free will _and_ he plays guitar. So, you can understand her infatuation.

**Me: **((re-entering)) Damn, he got away from me again. Anyway, seriously guys, he may be an asshole, but that 3D comment? Not an exaggeration at all.

**David: **What about me?

**Me: **Well, obviously, I love you, but I've never seen or met you in 3D.

**David: **Well, what about right now?

**Me: **David, this isn't happening. This is all in my imagination. Anything could happen here.

((Knock on door))

**David: **What the hell?! When did we get a door?!

**Me: **((walking to answer door)) When I put one there. ((opens door, sees Brad and Janet standing there)) Hello, Brad and Janet.

**Janet: **Oh Brad, I'm frightened! ((throws self into Brad's arms))

**Brad: **Um, excuse me miss, what in God's name are we doing here?

**Me: **Ah, I brought you here! ((maniacal laughter))

**Mush: **((stage whisper)) Moseph went insane! Someone give her a shot!

**Me: **Silence! ((Nods, Mush turns to stone))

**Janet: **((gasps)) You turned him to stone!

**Brad: **You're a monster!

**Me: **((nods again. Brad and Janet turn to stone)) It's not easy having a good time.

**David: **WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?!?!

**Jack: **((cries))

**Me: **((nods again. David and Jack turn to stone)) Even smiling makes my face ache. ((bites knuckle, walks away))

**Readers: **Ummm.....

**Me: **((pops back in)) Oh yeah, review! ((walks away))

* * *

**Disclaimer for Author's Note: **I don't own Newsies or Rocky Horror Picture Show or any characters and lines that come out of either. I don't own Elliott either, sadly, he owns himself. Which really badly sucks, because I think we'd have some fun if I _did_ own him

newsiesmoseph


	6. Chapter Six

Ladies and gentlemen! Brethren and sinners all! May I present-

**David: **Cut to the chase, Mo.

**Me: **((pouts)) You're no fun. You're such an un-fun muse. I think I'll call on my Jack muse. He was certainly helpful for my birthday present for Red...

**David: **No! No, I'll be good, I swear! Don't take this away from me!

**Me: **That's what I thought. Anyway, hi guys! ((waves)) Me again! Are you sick of me yet? No? Not yet? Well, give it time. I'm sorry that this was somewhat delayed. I had a wee accident.

**David: **((snorts)) A wee _stupid_ accident.

**Me: **Oh, Jack muse...

**David: **I mean, uh, a mistake that any brilliant, witty, talented, beautiful goddess like yourself could make.

**Me: **Thanks Dave. Don't hurt yourself, now. Anyway, I was trying to move my Newsies files into another folder(and by my Newsies files, I mean the evidence my friends and family would send to the mental institution upon my admittance. And by that, I mean all my fics) and about three quarters of everything got deleted. Fun stuff, huh? Anyway, I've managed to restore everything, but it took a lot of work. In fact, it's taken up most of my week. So, I apologize to you all. Now, onto shout outs!

**Ginny: **(my, you review a lot) Awww...now I feel like I'm gonna cry. That was so sweet! I'm glad I made your day. And kept you from crying, of course. ((hugs Ginny)) Okay, so I won't come and beat them up. I could mail them anthrax! That I could do! Now, to get my hands on some anthrax... I need something to play off of for insults. Do they have any hideously unattractive features? Are they stupid? I need some material. Argh, damn Ashley. I don't even know her and I want her to die. LOL, you COULD take them! That was pretty much the only time I was happy about Sarah's existence. She was cool in that chapter. Who doesn't want to go to the lodging house? I mean, I wouldn't want to have to live there. I think I'd just go in and steal all their clothes and anything that they could pass off as clothing and wait outside patiently for them to come out the next day. Dear God, pick a side, woman! Jack, David, Jack, David! Make up your mind! GOD! **David: **((snorts)) Hypocrite **Me:**((eyes dart nervously)) No, I'm not hypocrite! **David: **Don't even try. Just don't. **Me: **STOP INTERRUPTING MY REVIEW! Wh-what? You called Jack brilliant? And you weren't sarcastic? I need to sit down. ((sits)) **David: **((fans Moseph's head)) That was quite a shock you gave her, Ginny. **Me: **Did I not tell you to go away? **David: **((stops fanning)) Bloody ungrateful - **Me: **Don't say it, Dave. Aw, I'm glad you loved it. Oh my dear God, ALL my sentences are run on. Ooh, I enjoy the parting quote. I MUST MUST MUST see the live show. ((hits forehead)) NO! DON'T! Please don't make your reviews shorter! Long reviews are good! Awesome! Fantastic! And on to your second review. Man, you're antsy. Aw...I feel so special. Bloody homework. It sucks. Enjoy! If this sucks, hit me. No. Verbally abuse me. Love ya!

**Dreamless-Mermaid: **Damn, I _knew_ I'd never get away with stealing that from the DVD. ((snaps fingers)) Ah well. No one is harmed. Excuse me? Do you not listen to David? He SO has sarcasm! **David: **YEAH! **Me: **I TOLD YOU TO GO! See! Told you he had sarcasm! It's _underlying_. LOL, poor oblivious Les. Like when everyone's all mad at Denton and he's just happily eating his hot dog. Aw, our boys. Their so swell. ((cries on David's shoulder, just because you cried on Blink's and I want to touch/smell David)) Don't mock my hormones! He's bloody hot! I only have one picture of him and it's bad, so I can't show you. But he's HOT! Like, burn his clothes off hot. Ooooh...((daydreams)) Alright, I'm back now. I have no idea if your Spanish usage is right. I don't take Spanish and never have, although hopefully next year I will. Now, if you asked me about French, then I could tell you. Love ya! Read and review!

**Kitty: **I'm glad you enjoyed it! Oh, don't worry about getting into it too much. A) I'm glad you DID get into it. B) I get way into other people's fics. I yell things too. Only when I'm alone, though. Well, I'm too late to wish you good luck, but I'll wish it anyway. Good luck! Hope you get/got the part! The Artful Dodger is SO bloody cool. I hope my theatre company does Oliver. I wanna be Nancy... Oh dear God, don't worry about random. I'm SO bloody random, hence David's random popping up all over the place in my reviews and author's notes. **David: **((pops up)) HI! ((does a tap dance)) **Me: **GO AWAY! Just because I mentioned your random popping doesn't mean you have to bug us! **David: **((slinks away)) **Me: **Better. Awww...did you seriously almost cry? Really? You aren't just saying that? Wow, I love how into this you and Ginny are. I appreciate it! If you ever write something, let me know and I'll definitely read it. Love ya! Read and review!

**Wsox2004: **Aw, swell! I'm glad you like it! Poor David. I torture him, just because I feel like I can. He's my David. ((eyes dart around)) He didn't hear me. Thank God... Read and review!

**StormShadow21: **Bloody FanFiction bastards! I mean, uh...heh heh. I love you guys? ((awkward hug)) Damn it! I was hoping no one would be any the wiser that I stole that blue thing from the DVD special features. Oh, who am I kidding? We're all Newsies freaks. Someone was bound to notice. Wow, that was random. You had a craving for orange juice...just because I wrote about David drinking it? I HAVE ULTIMATE POWER! **David: **Actually, that was me. Me. **Me: **BEGONE, TINY FOOL! **David: **((slinks away)) **Me: **Sorry. That was a bit power trippy. LOL, who WOULD mind David stalking them! I would PAY him to stalk me! LOL, I love the part where Jack gets turned down. It's just so fucking funny. I know! It's weird how oddly David and angst go together! Aw, I though Sarah was being cool. _David_ was being over dramatic. Although, I would be none too happy with _my_ parents if they decided to ship me off to boarding school. Gotta love Skits. HIGH FIVE FOR HERMITS! Yeah, so you do meet David's roommate in this chapter. I _was_ going to have his roommate be Mark, but that was too evil. Even for me. Well, I _want_ to tell you where the story is going, but I can't. It's the author's code of conduct. **David: **That means she doesn't know. **Me: **STOP RUINING THE MYSTERY! Anyway, Elliott is waaaaay hot. You'd probably like him even more if you met him. Even if he is a jackass. He's a hot jackass. Yes, I am obsessive. Was that not obvious before? I have an obsessive personality. You rock too! ((blows kisses))

**Elphie: **My darling Elphie! ((air kisses)) I'm _still_ mad about Moscow getting engaged. He's _supposed_ to keep himself available for me. Or he could have at least waited until I was legal. Oh, me and my dirty, dirty thoughts. You SO can not take Jack away. I need him! For...inspiration? Okay, so that's not very plausible, but he's fun to look at. DAMN IT! I can't use any inside Newsies jokes where other Newsies freaks are concerned because you're all like "HA! YOU STOLE THAT" Where are my non-obsessive friends when I need them? I love the thought of David skipping. Dear God, you are so Wicked obsessive. I love it. I know I told you this, but I'm doing stage crew for a production of The Wizard of Oz and we had sort of a run through of the set changes. I felt like I was cheating on Wicked. We shall talk more about it on AIM! EMO BOYS! I **_LOVE_** emo boys! They always sit in the atrium of our school in a secluded corner, listening to music and reading random, thick novels. I love looking at them when I climb up the stairs. I love their clothes with the band names sewed on and their dyed black hair. I just love emo boys. Love ya, Elphie darling!

**Brunette: **Yeah, I didn't realize until after I'd written it that it was so long. I hadn't _meant_ for it to be that long. But I was writing the dinner scene and I was like "Oh! Sudden brilliant plot twist! Ha! I'm a genius" and then I started typing madly away and, well, there it was. Don't let David die! Save him from my angsty, twisted brain! (Okay, so I'm not really angsty or twisted. But I am where David's fate in this story is concerned) Well, his parents have no idea that he's getting beaten up. Now, I should _think_ it would be obvious, but they need to be oblivious for my purposes. I have no idea whether or not I'll be using the random, nameless girl again. She didn't really have much of a purpose, just my amusement. Oh, irony and sarcasm. Yeah, that's pretty much all of my wit. Irony, sarcasm and puns, actually. Except the only funny thing about my puns is how hard I laugh at them. ((bows)) I'm glad you enjoy this story. This was kind of a long time for an update, but it's here...and short. Sorry. Love ya! Read and review again!

So, now that I'm done with all the shout outs, I'm sorry to inform you all that this chapter is pretty short. It's only long because of my author's notes and shout outs. The content is pretty minimal. BUT! Next chapter will be longer, definitely. And if anyone wishes to know, my newest romantic engagements with the newsies will be at the bottom of the chapter. Don't skip ahead! Read on!

* * *

"Master Griffin, I don't see what choice you have. I understand that you have a certain amount of seniority here and you've had your own room for the entirety of your attendance here at Sir Martin's. We've already given the other bed to another young man, the same age as you, so I'm afraid you'll have to make due."

"Fine. When is he getting here?"

"He'll be here any moment. Please, tidy up in here a bit, and don't be late for your first class." The door opened and the dorm master saw me standing in the hallway, trying to look inconspicious. He peered over his glasses at me. "Are you Master Jacobs?" he asked, as if to say "This is it?" I gulped and nodded slowly. He stepped back so I could enter the room. It was even more pathetic than the bunk room at the lodging house, if possible. Two beds, one made, one bare, two sets of drawers. The only mess was a pile of clothes on the bed that was made.

"This will be your room for the duration of the school year. This is your bed and your chest of drawers. Your sheets are in the top shelf, you'll have to make your bed yourself. The bathroom is down the corridor. You'll be sharing it with the other boys in this hallway. And this is your roommate, James Griffin." For the first time, I took notice of my roommate. James was a frail, freckled boy, probably my age, who looked very unhappy. I didn't blame him. From the sounds of it, he'd had his own room for many years now. I wouldn't want to give up my own room to me. I set my bag down on the floor beside my bed. I opened my mouth to ask when I could go home when I was cut off by the dorm master.

"After your classes are over, you'll go to the principal's office to discuss the dorm rules. If you have any questions, I'm Mister Sanders." Before I could actually _ask_ any of these questions, Mister Sanders turned and left. I glanced at the clock on the wall, the only decorative feature of the room. There was still half an hour before classes began. So, should I stand here for half an hour and force awkward conversation with my roommate or just ignore him and unpack? Since he was obviously preoccupied, scrutinizing the dirt on his bed cover, I opted for unpacking. I opened my suitcase and found all the clothes I owned, which wasn't a lot, neatly folded inside. Since I was being stubborn and refused to pack, my mother did it for me. It took me no time at all to get unpacked and, since my roommate was still mute, I started making my bed.

"So why are you here?" I looked up. James was staring at me intently.

"What do you mean?" I asked, still making my bed. Which sheet goes on top? James chuckled.

"No one here is innocent. They may as well call it a reformatory because that's what it is. Boys get sent here for a reason: their parents are sick of them, they're alcoholics, they're violent. Everyone's got a story," he said.

"I thought this was a school for the rich and privileged."

"It is. For the screwed up ones," he said with a smirk. "You know that kid, Freddie? Brown hair, skinny, _really_ dumb? He drank a whole bottle of his parents scotch. They came home to find him passed out in the kitchen and sent him here to get over it and try to rebuild their reputation. Freddie's doin' okay now, but every once in a while, he gets into the chef's liquor cabinet and it takes them an hour to chase him down." I stared at him dumbly. I was in a mental institution.

"And Charlie, the blond guy," James continues. "His parents are debutantes. They've got such a busy social schedule, they didn't have time to bother with Charlie, so they sent him here. He pretends not to care, but every time the mail comes, he can only stare at the letters from the concerned parents and try not to care that his parents haven't been in contact for three months. So, what'd you do?" I paused and leaned against the end of my bed.

"I used to be a newsie in Manhattan," I began. "My father lost his job and we all had to go out and get our own to support the family. But when he got it back my parents sent me here on a scholarship. I got suspended for "attacking" Mark. Son of a bitch," I said, not bothering to specify who Mark was. There were three hundred and fifty boys in the school, but everyone knew who Mark was. James' eyes bulged.

"You attacked Mark?" he asked. I nodded slowly. James broke into a grin. "Good job! I can't stand that guy. He thinks he owns the whole bloody school just because his parents do," he said. Finally! An ally!

"Tell me about it," I said. "So, what about you? What did you do?" James opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a loud clanging from downstairs. The bell. Joy. I grabbed my school bag from the bed and slung it over my shoulder.

"Before you go, I'm Jim. _Not_ James," Jim said, extending a freckled hand.

"David Jacobs," I said, shaking his hand firmly.

"Good luck, Dave," he said, picking up his own bag. "And Dave? Don't take any of Mark's shit." I grinned as I headed out the door and ran down the stairs to the school room.

I could hear the noise inside from the door, but as soon as I pushed it open and set foot in the classroom, all movement and sound ceased. I made my way slowly to my desk, edging past the frozen bodies. Once I had taken my seat, the din began again, this time, in hushed whispers. No, correction. Stage whispers. They didn't bother to keep their voices down. They _wanted_ me to hear them discussing me, throwing out insults and rumours, trying to make me turn around and accuse them so they could innocently insist that they hadn't said a thing. I wouldn't let them win. I kept my back turned, my eyes on the board.

"He set his apartment on fire-"

"His parents sent him to a reformatory and he got expelled-"

"He's addicted to opium. His family's poor because he spent all their money on it-"

I snorted. These guys were pathetic. They could have at least made up some _plausible_ lies. I'm just a worthless nerd from Manhattan. How the hell would I ever get my hands on opium? Really? One voice boomed out above the others.

"Well, a hearty welcome back, urchin! How was your week?" I turned to face Mark. He was smirking. Don't let him win. Don't take his shit.

"Peachy," I said sweetly. "And yours?"

"Quite enjoyable, actually. I spent _lovely_ night in Manhattan the other night," he said. Snickers oozed out of the clump of boys. They're like a bunch of girls, really.

"Oh, really? Treating your boyfriend to a night out? How sweet of you," I said back, in the same sweet tone as before. Okay, that was dumb and immature, but the only way to win his game is to play it. His smile didn't fade so much as fall like a brick off The World building.

"Don't try it, street rat," he growled threatening. The boys perked up, since the odds of a fight between Mark and I were beginning to look up. "I'll beat you to a bloody pulp if you try anything."

"Yeah? You and what army?" Ooh, nice retort, Jacobs. His goons stood up, flexing their muscles. Oh. That army. Smart, Jacobs. Reeeaaal smart.

"This army, in case you couldn't tell," Mark said, chuckling at his wit. Yeah, thanks, I caught that.

"And they'll do what? Demolish me with their wit?" I asked sarcastically. A smirk crept onto my face. Ha, you can't win now, my tiny, moronic foe!

"Actually, more likely with their fists." Damn it. Way to screw yourself over, David. But wait! I have a plan!

"Really? Is that so? Well, I have lots of friends who have fists that would love to meet your face." Yes! I am _destroying_ Mark with my wit. Mark rolled his eyes.

"Jacobs, don't make things up. It always ends badly," Mark retorted. Oh, poor, unassuming fool...

"You think I'm making this up? How about I prove it to you?"

"Fine. Tomorrow evening, 6 o'clock, out back. Bring your 'friends'." Mark didn't have to use the air quotes to imply them with his voice.

"We'll be there." I sat back down as Mr. Garrison strode into the room.

"Alright, everyone, settle down. Today, we'll begin with our usual grammar review. Take out your books."

* * *

The bell signifying the end of the day rang as if signalling my doom. The other boys filed out of the art classroom quietly, smiling charmingly at Miss Van Bemmel as they go. I was last in line, saying good bye to her before I left.

"Good bye, David. It's nice to have you back," she said, returning my smile as she cleaned the rest of the paintbrushes. I continued my long walk toward the principal's office. The door loomed ahead of me. If I opened that door, i would have to accept this as my fate. I think I prefer denial.

"Come in," the principal called gruffly in response to my knock. I opened the door.

"You wanted to see me?" I asked, hoping he didn't and I would be free to go. No such luck. He nodded and gestured at a seat in front of him. I sat, clutching my bag apprehensively in my lap.

"Now, David, I want you to understand that you're very lucky to be boarding here," the principal began. "Especially considering the circumstances." Lucky isn't quite the word I would have used. "Now, let's go over the rules, shall we?" He droned on and on, going over the expected. No food in the dorm rooms. Dinner at 6:00, breakfast at 6:30. No leaving the school grounds after curfew. No going out of the boundaries. Mail delivered every week. Blah blah blah. "Do you have any questions, David?"

"When do I go home for the holidays?" The principal's mustache twitched.

"Two weeks for Christmas, starting December 18th. After that, summer vacation," he grunted. "Now, go unpack or...do something useful." I nodded and got out of my seat, making a beeline for the door. "And David? If there's another "incident", you will be expelled, without question. Do you understand me?" I nodded again and darted out the door before he could make anymore threats.

* * *

I was waiting for an hour before I spotted what I was looking for. A lone, scruffy child, wandering the street. A stack of newspapers about twice his size were clutched in his arms. I ran to him.

"Hey, kid, you know where Manhattan is?" I asked hurriedly. The kid nodded at me with wide eyes. I handed him a folded piece of paper. "Can you take this to the Duane Street Lodging House? Make sure it gets to Jack Kelly." The kid took it from me and tucked it in his pants pocket. I thanked him and started to walk away.

"Hey mister!" he called to me. I turned around. "Buy me last pape?" I smiled and handed him a penny, taking the paper.

"Thanks, kid. Make sure that note gets to Manhattan _tonight,_" I stressed, running back to the school.

* * *

I lay flat on my back, counting the seconds between each breath Jim took. It was past midnight and I was wide awake, unable to sleep. Not only did my bed feel like a slab of pavement, but it turned out that Mark was my next door neighbour and these walls were paper thin. I could every thing the girl next door with him said. Or gasped, rather. I was jolted out of insomniac trance by a sharp knock on the window and rose my head to see what was disturbing my lack of sleep. Jack was dangling in front of the window, grinning like a mad man. I ran to the window and opened it.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed. "We're not supposed to have visitors."

"Dat's not what it sounded like next door", Jack whispered. "So, how you doin' Dave?" I rested my elbow on the window sill.

"I'm in hell. Is that enough of an answer?"

"Yeah, I figured as much by dis note. Dave, when I set dis up, I meant in an emergency," he said.

"Well, it is an emergency," I insisted.

"Aftah da first day?"

"Look, did you read the note, Kelly?" I asked impatiently.

"All it said was tah come to da school at six o'clock tomorrah night and bring all da guys. What for?"

"Well...I sort of accidentally got us into a fight with Mark's guys." Jack raised an eyebrow.

"Sorta accidentally? How did dat happen?"

"Well..."

"Nevah mind. We'll be dere." I grinned.

"Thanks. I knew you would."

"'Ey, don' worry 'bout it."

"So who's on the roof anyway?"

"Skits. I woulda brought you, since you were my right hand man when we was bustin' out Crutchy, but you were here, so.."

"Yeah, I understand. How is everyone?"

"Well, not much different than yesterday. I still can' believe dat dey sent you here."

"Yeah, me neither. I can't get out until Christmas." I could hear footsteps coming down the hall toward my door. "Shit! That's the dorm master! Go! Now!" Jack grinned, waved at me and swung out of sight. I leaped back at my bed and pulled the covers over my head. I heard the door creak open.

"Master Jacobs?" Mister Sanders called into our room. He was met by silence, so he close the door gently. And so ends my first day in hell.

* * *

Hmm, fun with name meanings time! Let's see now. ((consults baby names website)) Let's start with David, shall we? "Beloved". Well, I certainly believe that. Now, how about Jack? Well, it's from the name John, which means "God is gracious". Wow, that's stupid. Oh, wait, there's another one. "Merciful". Hmm...((ponders)) Moving on! Mark means "warlike", which makes sense, considering the character in this story. James means "supplanter", whatever that means. Meh, I'll consult the dictionary another time. Sarah means "princess". ((snorts)) Yeah, in her own mind. Esther means "star" or "myrtle leaf". Mayer isn't even in here. How about Les? Wow, that's no fun. It means "from the town of Leicester". That's so uncool. But wait! It says it's short for Leslie or Lester! Little Lester! ((cuddles Les...ter)) ((attempts to think of newsies with real names)) Jake! Jake is short for Jacob, which means..."supplanter". What's with all the supplanter? How obscure. Oh! I almost forgot! Kissin' time! Who's on the list for today?

**Boots: **((steps forward)) That'd be me!

**Me: **Aw, Boots! ((cuddles Boots)) So cute!

**Boots: **Sheesh, quit it, lady.

**Me: **You called me lady! So cute! ((cuddles Boots))

**Boots: **I said enough! Make me a man!

**Me: **"IN JUST SEVEN DAYS, I CAN MAKE YOU A M-" ((is hit by shoe)) GOD DAMN IT, MUSH! GET BACK IN THAT CLOSET! Now, I'm sorry, where were we?

**Boots: **You were gonna make me a man.

**Me: **...Isn't that slang for "deflowering" a guy?

**Boots: **((shrugs)) Hey, whatever you want to call it. Swapping spit, knockin' boots. I'm not particular.

**Me: **...Oh...my God.

**Boots: **I know. Hard to believe I'm this gorgeous and still a virgin, huh?

**Me: **Um, Boots, I think you need to have "the talk". I think you're a little "confused".

**Boots: **Whatever. Just quit it with the air quotes.

**Me: **NO! David, talk him up!

**David: **((leading Boots away)) Now, Boots, when a man and a woman love each other very much...

**Me: **Ew, I'm so glad I'm not listening to that conversation. Now, while I'm waiting..."OOM PAH PAH, OOM PAH PAH, THAT'S HOW IT GOES! OOM PAH PAH, OOM PAH PAH, EVERYONE KNOWS! THEY ALL SUPPOSE WHAT THEY WANT TO SUPP-" ((is hit by shoe)) MUSH! YOU GOD DAMN, BLOODY, DIRTY LITTLE FREAK! Say bye bye to Mush everyone. ((takes care of Mush))

**Boots: **((walks back in a daze)) Oh...my...God...

**Me: **You're back! Lemme kiss you! ((lunges at Boots))

**Boots: **AHHHHH! GET AWAY FROM ME LADY! I AIN'T DOIN' THAT TO YOU! I AIN'T DOIN' IT TO NO ONE!

**Me: **((rolls eyes)) David! Did you not explain about kissing?

**Boots:** What's kissing?

**Me: **((kisses Boots on the cheek)) That's kissing. Poor, innocent child.

**David: **Hmmm, all this talk of the birds and the bees. It's getting me kind of...excited. ((raises eyebrows suggestively at Moseph))

**Me: **((sighs with anguish)) Why, oh why, did I have to make that stupid rule about not kissing any newsie more than once until they have all been kissed once? Stupid, stupid, stupid! ((hits forehead))

**David: **Well...technically, you wouldn't be breaking any rules if I just...helped myself.

**Me: **...Boots, leave the room now.

**Boots: **But why do I-

**Me: **NOW, CHILD!

**Boots: **((runs away))

**Me: **Dear God, I love loop holes.

**David: **You might think differently if you -

**Me:** Shut it, Jacobs. Review, readers! ((closes curtains))

newsiesmoseph


	7. Chapter Seven

Well, after a somewhat substantial absence from this story, I'm back, with a newer and better chapter. This one had _better _kick ass, after that mediocre last one. ((checks notes)) Well, uh, I guess I'll just move on to shout outs now...

**David: **A-HEM!

What? Got a cough?

**David: **Uh, _no. _Remember, you had something to tell everyone?

I...I don't believe I know what you mean

**David: **Yes, you do. Now, come on, out with it.

All right, all right, fine. Well, remember last time, when I said that I'd accidentally deleted almost all my fic files? Well...((scuffs toe))

**David: **Say it...

Okaay, it turns out I didn't delete them after all. They were on my computer the whole time. Yes, I'm an idiot.

**David: **Hah hah! Idiot!

Don't push your luck, bucko.

**David: **DON'T call me Bucko.

Fine then...granny panties.

**David: **ARGH!

Oh, that was fun. All right, now I'm _really _moving on to shout outs.

**Sprints 100: **Ah, well, thanks for your review anyway. I don't care if it's long. I just appreciate that you read it. Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

**angelloves1: **Well, thanks for the review. I have _no _problem with you loving me. I find it quite easy to be adored. Hope you keep reading!

**Hollywood: **Hey, don't worry about taking a long time. I'm always the last person to review everything. Davey has an ally! ((dances)) Well, I was threatened. I had to make his roommate nice. Damn! I _knew _there was something I wanted to review! Well, I'll be last, _as usual_. I did read it, though, it was so cute! Thanks for the review, hon! ((blows kisses))

**lynneanne: **Yay for a new reader! Wow, I always get excited when new people read my stuff. Oh! Another Davey lover! ((tackles)) It took me a while to reach my David obsession. My original favourite was Jack (of course, I think he's almost everyone's first favourite. Either him or Spot), then Racetrack, then Jack _and _Racetrack, then Jack and David, and now David is my absolute favourite. Gotta love that undershirt he wears in the end. Rowr. Aw, I'm glad that you liked it! Angsty David, doesn't get much better than that. Yeah, I like to think that this is quite witty. I started writing in when I got sick of my first story (now I have seven!) and I wanted to do something different. Something angsty, a little less Mary Sueish (another rule of Newsies-dom: every first fic is somewhat Mary Sueish. Of course, it doesn't apply to everyone, but it applies to most) and more of David's sarcasm. And this just came out of my head. Well, my last chapter was kind of short, so this one's pretty long. Recommendations: _Between Love and A Waste of Time, _by Cyanne76, _Club Ten, _by Brunette, _Hellie 'a Brooklyn_, by Brunette, _King_, by Brunette (really, just read all of her stuff. It's all absolutely amazing, whether David's featured or not), _My Thing, My Forte, My Essence, _by Song Birdy, _Yeats and Sunshine, _by Brunette (okay, so I'm just a whore for everything she writes) and _Fortune Found Me_, by LegallyRed. Some are angsty, others are hilarious. Most David fics are just plain freakin' awesome. Good luck!

**Ginny: **Wow, those are two long reviews. All right, I'll start at the very beginning. A very good place to start. When you read, you begin with... okay, I'm stopping now. Awww...I feel so touched. I can't believe I made your day better with that tiny little update. You're so cute! I SAW WICKED! ((dies)) It was beyond amazing. It was so good I cried. Aw, you're singing For Good? I wish I had someone to sing duets with... ((smacks forehead)) People are so stupid. What kind of comeback is that? Sad, sad, sad. I love how things in this story relate to your school life. Well, not really, because bad things happen. But it's still kind of cool that you relate. Why would they want to come to your party when you didn't invite them? Do they just want to be invited? Because, you know, there's a word for people like that: pathetic. Well, in response to your list, here's my own little response...list...thing.

1. It actually makes me happy too. I like writing and I love updates. And this story is one of my favourites because it's _David_. All David.  
2. Well, I guess it's good that they're fun to read, because they're also fun to write.  
3. Wow, do they really rock? That's a plus. Sometimes, I think the plot kind of sucks. But every so often, I get this REALLY awesome plot twist idea and I add it in and I'm just SO excited. Like when I first introduced the idea of him boarding at school. I was just kind of sitting around thinking, "Ho hum, what should I write next?" and then it hit me. I got all excited and started typing like a mad woman and here I am!  
4. Um, thanks?  
5. Well, how can something with David in it be bad?

Thanks for the songs, dearest! Thankies for the review, hope you enjoy the new chapter.

**StormShadow21: **My favourite reviewer! ((joins in happy dance)) Ew, Valentines Day. It blows chunks. I despise Valentines Day. I think it's stupid whether I'm single or not. Now, if someone _asked me out_ on Valentines Day, I might change my mind. But for now, I think it's generally stupid. Erm, I don't think Jimmy's hot. At least, in my head he's not. He looks like this freckly, red-headed kid that I see around the school sometimes. 'Cept taller and skinnier. Nah nah nah nah! Nah nah! Nah nah! Stop! Hammertime! Oh, good stuff. Gooood stuff. All boys except Newsies boys need to die. As do all non-Newsies fans. And then it shall be them and us in perfect bliss. Is that a really bad fantasy? LOL, I love that Dave has bad comebacks. 'Cause I do too. Everyone so often. Yes, Mark is ugly and bad...and a poophead. Hah. Gotta love childish name calling. I LOVE Boots. Ah, no luck, mademoiselle. I would love to kiss Skittery next, but I didn't choose the order. I listed them alphabetically by the actor's first name. There were too many S's to list them by character. Good, pink-clothed Skittery is...sixteenth? Damn... Well, this time, I'm a kissin' three. So yay for me. Hope you got over your cold! Thankies for the review! Enjoy the new chapter!

**Elphie:** Yeah, I read about the Witch having one eye. It was weird... You must write me a fic for my birthday, in which Dave is an emo boy! Just a suggestion... (hey, I wrote you a birthday fic, and a Jack fic in which you could picture yourself having crazy sex with him. I purposely did that, just for you. So in some way, that counts as a fic present type thing) Hey, if Davey's rooming with either of us, it'll be _me_, okay? You get Jack, 'member? Yep, you 'n' me in the institution. My school looks like a mental institution. Odd... Well, I know he _technically_ does, but...shut up! Don't ruin it! Well, technically, you and _me_ are on the same brain wave. But you already knew that._ (shakes David wildly) YOU HAVE JACK! HE COULD TAKE THEM ALL ON! HE COULD GO BATEMAN ON THEM ALL! AH! (Jack grabs my shoulders and pries me off of David and sets me back down in chair. He looks at me pitifully, then pats my head, muttering sadly to himself)_ There are no words. Just...no words... Yeah, uh, stupid kid. With the having the huge stack of papers and asking him to buy his last one. Yeah, that was _totally_ his mistake. **David: **Nuh uh! That was you! **Me: **You! Hush! ((stuffs Dave back in closet)) Thankies for the review! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

**Kitty: **Oh, gotta love Wicked. Ginny told me about your duet. I'm insanely jealous. Man, chorus parts are where it's _at_! I made a community theatre career for myself on chorus parts. Really, chorus is just so fun. There's minimal pressure, you can goof off in the background sometimes and sometimes, you get assigned small little things to do and it's fun. When I did Bye Bye Birdie, I got to be the girl with a brother. It was freakin' awesome. I think he was scared of me, though. No, I'm positive he was scared of me. One time he hugged me, though, and I completely melted. And then I tackled him and he was scared of me again. _You get to be in Anything Goes? _I'm so insanely jealous! I want to see that so badly. Yeah, gotta love the ol' rumour mill. I think people who get _really _into stories are just plain cooler than other people. High five! Thankies for the review! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

**Brunette: **Aww... ((pouts)) Stupid ff.n. They screw things up all the time. Curse them! People lose reviews all the time. Thankfully, it hasn't happened to me yet, but I'm not looking forward to when it does. Well, thank you kindly! I promise, I have this list of stories I want to review, and many of yours are on there. I'll get to them! Yeah, yeah, happy bloody Valentines Day. Peh. Thankies for the review! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!

'Fore we start, I'm heaving out the giant Internet dictionary. Now, last time, we looked at name meanings. Jake and James both meant "supplanter". Since no one asked, I'm going to define it for you! ((goes to dictionary website, types in "supplanter")) Here's a definition: "one who supplants". ((facepalm)) Yeah, thanks, I got that. Let's try another one. "One who wrongfully or illegally seizes and holds the place of another". Well now! Jake and Jimmy are sneaky thieves, now are they? Tsk tsk.

NEWSIE KISSIN' TIME! ((runs around a la Pee Wee))

Who's on the list for today? I'm doing three today, just to get some out of the way. So I don't have sixteen more chapters of meaningless nothingness that doesn't advance the plot or add to it in any way, shape or form. So, today we have... Pie Eater, Snitch and Bumlets! Bring 'em on! ((sets up box that says "Moseph's Kissing Booth" and chair)) First customer, please!

**Pie Eater: **((strolls up to stand)) Can I get a hot dog with all the condiments, please?

This is a kissing booth, dude. No hot dogs here.

**Pie: **Well, what can I get for five dollars?

The kisses here are free, so... ((lightbulb)) That'll be five dollars for a kiss.

**Pie: **If I give you five dollars, can I have a hot dog too?

Don't you eat pies?

**Pie: **No. I've actually never had pie. I eat hot dogs. Lots and lots of hot dogs.

So why did they call you Pie Eater?

**Pie: **Hot Dog made them laugh too hard. And Pie Eater has a nice ring to it.

Good point. All right, c'mere. ((grabs Pie by shirt collar and kisses him))

**Pie: **Can I get that hot dog?

No. Next!

**Snitch: **((walks up to stand, combing hair)) Hey baby. Are you a parking ticket? 'Cause you got fine written all over you.

((blinks)) Um...

**Snitch: **I'd like to rearrange the alphabet and U and I together.

Can you stop? Now?

**Snitch: **What's the matter? This isn't turning you on?

No. Should it?

**Snitch: **That'd be the point.

Yeah, it's not working. Gimme five bucks.

**Snitch: **I'm not giving you five bucks!

All right. How about I kiss you for free?

**Snitch: **Yeah, that works. ((hops up on booth))

((smooches))

**Snitch: **All _right_! Can I try out one more line?

Um, yeah, sure, go for it.

**Snitch: **Ahem. Can I get some fries with that shake?

...You're lucky I already kissed you. Next!

**Bumlets: **Yo, supa lady!

Bumlets? What are you wearing? Are...are you wearing a track suit?

**Bumlets: **You don't like ma threads?

No. Really, really not.

**Bumlets: **How 'bout the bling?

I have to say, silver basketball nets don't really do it for me, Bums.

**Bumlets: **Well, what's your style, then?

Newsboys.

**Bumlets: **Really? Are you serious?

Yeah. Really, can you either change or go? I can't look at or talk to you right now.

**Bumlets: **((whirls around and changes back into newsboy clothes a la Wonder Woman)) This better?

Much. ((leans over, smooches)) On to the chapter!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Newsies, that belongs to Disney. I own all characters not in Newsies or involved in it in any way, shape or form. I really just like saying "way, shape or form". Right. Okay. Don't sue me.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, a rumbling stirred in my stomach. I dashed to the bathroom with one hand clamped over my mouth, the other used to push past disgruntled boys. Either the fish last night as bad or pre-fight nerves were getting the better of me.

I wearily dressed for school, hardly paying attention to what I was wearing. Somehow, I managed to get the correct clothes on the right body parts.

I practically fell down the stairs and stumbled into my first class, taking my assigned seat in front of Mark. It wasn't long before a crumpled piece of paper hit the back of my head and landed on my desk. I slowly turned to face my tormentor. Mark was whistling, trying to look inconspicuous, his eyes darting down at the paper suggestively. I assumed he was prompting me to pick it up and read it, so, taking my eyes off him for a moment, I uncrumpled the ball of paper. It was torn from a page of the newspaper: the obituaries. There was no writing, only a crude drawing. A short, scrawny stick figure, labelled "David" lay bleeding on the ground. There was a lumpy figure named "Mark" (I assumed the lumps were Mark's over-exaggerated interpretation of his muscles) standing over my battered stick self, his foot in my eye socket. And off in a corner, a dirty, skinny stick figure wearing a bandanna was crying. I assumed this was supposed to be Jack. I turned around, gave Mark a "poor, unassuming fool" look and tossed the paper back at him.

"Don't count on it," I said, not resisting the smirk that crawled onto my face. "You haven't met my friends yet."

I began to turn back in my seat, the satisfied smirk still remaining, when a hand shot out and stopped me. My gaze wandered from the hand, up the arm and to the menacing, twisted face.

"Why don't we make things a little more _interesting_, Jacobs?" Mark's voice came from behind the huge, muscled boy holding me in place. Mark put a hand on the boy's shoulder and he moved aside so Mark could lean down in front of me. "What do you say?"

"What kind of interesting?" I asked warily.

"If me and my boys win, you never show your face here again," he said, moving closer. I backed away as the smell of his breath invaded my nose.

"Believe me, I wish," I muttered.

"No, you don't understand. We win, and you never show your face in Queens again. Or else you don't _have _a face." Well, that's a little clearer.

"And if we win?"

"We leave you alone," he said simply. I pondered this. It was risky, and if he won, I'd have nowhere to go. But still...

"It's a deal," I said confidently, sticking out a hand. He took it and smiled evilly.

"Fantastic. I'll see you tonight, urchin," he said, motioning for his goons to take their seats. Mark sat behind me and I could almost feel the slimy grin radiating from him.

"Class, take your seats, please," a female voice came from the back of the room. Audibly, the entire male class turned in their seats to see the face matching the voice. Females in our school were a rarity: Miss Van Bemmel and the nurse were the only females, and the nurse barely looked like she had a pulse, so Miss Van Bemmel was usually counted as the only female. Much to the delight of the more hormonal in the room, this woman definitely had a pulse. The woman strode to the front of the room, placing a painted canvas bag on the desk and turning to write her name on the blackboard.

"Good morning, boys, I'm Miss Raymond, your substitute teacher," she said in a crisp, British accent, placing the chalk on the ledge and brushing the dust of her skirt. I heard Mark give an approving grunt and I couldn't help but mentally agree. She was young, dressed in a long, plain skirt, auburn hair swept into a bun. She was definitely pretty, but my classmates seemed to be past that observation. What had once been noisy and raucous was now silent and attentive. Miss Raymond looked around unsurely at the suddenly mute room.

"I have to be honest with you. This is my first job teaching boys and I'm a little nervous," she said, giving an uneasy chuckle. "So I'd appreciate it if you would tell me where you left off. Mr. Garrison left me a lesson plan," she said, withdrawing a paper from her bag. "But it's a little difficult to read. As far as I can make out, we're supposed to begin with English. Where are you in the text?" I could hear the air whooshing as Mark's hand shot into the air.

"Page 86, miss," Mark said in his polite, brown-nosing voice.

"Oh, thank you," she said, smiling graciously and flicking the pages of the text. "Now, who can sum up what you learned yesterday?" I raised a tentative hand. "Yes?"

"Well, we've just finished reading the short story in our text and our homework last night were the discussion questions," I said. I could feel twenty narrowed eyes on my back.

"Oh, thank you..."

"David," I supplied. "David Jacobs."

"Oh, well, thank you, Master Jacobs," she said, pausing to read over the questions.

"Brown-noser," Mark muttered behind me. I snorted softly at him, but didn't turn to acknowledge him. Our attention turned back to Miss Raymond as we heard her chalk on the blackboard. "Ooh, Miss Raymond!" Mark's hand fluttered in the air again. "I could read the story out loud to bring you up to speed, if you like!"

"Oh, no, that's very nice, but I read this story in college. I'm well versed in the author's work, as a matter of fact. But thank you, Master..."

"Butler," Mark said with a smirk. "Mark Butler. Of the Butlers."

"Um, all right," Miss Raymond said, giving Mark an unsure look.

"The Butlers? My parents own the school?" A sudden look of realization crossed her face.

"Oh! Well, thank you, Master Butler," she said. "All right, let's take up the questions. Who has an answer for the first?"

* * *

The loud moaning emerging from Mark's room seemed to somewhat counter the tense mood in my own dorm room.

"God, what is he doing in there, beating her with a shoe?" Jim's sarcastic voice came from behind me. The moans grew louder.

"Well, as long as he gets it out of his system before tonight," I added grimly.

"Look, calm down, Jacobs. It'll be fine. You've got, what, about fifteen guys backing you?" I nodded. "That's plenty. 'Sides, your guys have street knowledge. Mark's guys are all like him: stuck-up and inexperienced. Pretty, arrogant boys. Nothing to worry about. Even _you _can take them."

"Thanks, Jim," I said sarcastically, flopping onto the bed beside him. "Where are they?" I asked irritably.

"Calm down, Jacobs, they'll be here soon," Jim said patiently. As if on cue, there was a rapping noise at the door. I left the bed to open it and saw an anxious-looking Skittery waiting at the door.

"Ready tah go, Davey?" he asked.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed. This was not the plan. They were not supposed to come through the school.

"Whaddaya mean?" Skittery asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. Hurriedly, I pulled him into the room and shut the door behind him.

"What are you doing in the school? It's not allowed. No visitors in the dorms," I told him. Skittery smirked.

"That's not what it sounded like next door," he said, obviously referring to Mark's companion. Jim guffawed and I couldn't help but smile a bit.

"How did you get in anyway?" I asked curiously. Skittery shrugged.

"The guys caused a distraction and I walked right in," he said. "Ready tah go now?" Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

"You wanna come, Jim?" I asked my roommate. Jim shook his head.

"Nah. Can't get involved," he said simply. I gave him a questioning look, but Skittery tapped his foot impatiently.

"All right. If you hear my anguished screams, alert the authorities, will you?" I said jokingly. Jim laughed in response and got up to shut the door behind us.

"Teach him a lesson, Jacobs," he encouraged, closing the door. I stared at the worn wood frame, longing to throw open the door and dive under the covers.

"Come on, Davey!" Skittery called from halfway down the hall. Reluctantly, I tore away from the door and caught up with Skittery.

I emerged from the building to find more than a dozen newsboys standing on the groomed front lawn of the school, looking quite out of place.

"Let's get this over with, Dave," an impatient voice from the back said. "I want to beat up some pretty boys and go."

"Yeah, thanks Spot. Really appreciate the support," I answered sarcastically. "So who's here?" I asked Jack quietly.

"All the guys, 'cept the little ones," he said, scanning the crowd. "Spot brought a couple 'a his guys, which'll help us out a bit. How many guys has Mark got?"

"No way to tell," I told him, squinting in the late afternoon sunlight. "He's still busy upstairs, so we have a while," I added, rolling my eyes. "Got any tactics?" Jack squinted at me.

"Tactics? You serious, Dave?" he scoffed. I shrugged. "Look, swing and if you hit the guy, swing again. And if you don't hit him...swing again anyway."

"Thanks for the advice, Jack," I muttered. There was indistinct chattering among the newsboys and Jack raised his arms to silence them.

"Ahright, guys. We're doing this for our buddy Dave here." I tried to ignore the scoff from the back that I'm sure was emitted from Spot. "Now, let's fight hard and fight _clean_." Another scoff from Spot. An odd calm settled through me as we herded toward the large, grassy field behind the school. Large, grassy fields like that aren't common in New York, but the administration at Sir Marty's preserved it for sports use. There was a long, thin, pounded down ring encircling the entire field, thanks to cross country running.

The sunlight sweeping over the baked brown grass hurt my eyes and I shielded my face with my hand. With the sun blocked, I saw a small army moving in unison toward us. Jack's eyes narrowed and he nodded at me as he strode forward. Unsurely, I followed him, as did the rest of the newsies. As we got closer and closer, I felt more and more hatred and anxiety. I half expected Mark and his goons to whip out rifles and gun us down. At least my death would be quick. In the time it took me to concoct my sudden, tragic death (during which I choked out a last goodbye to Jack and told him to tell my mother I love her), we were face to face with the enemy. My nose was mere inches from Mark's. At his side was his right hand man, who I _finally _figured out was named Aaron, cracking his neck in a surprisingly menacing way. He regarded Jack coldly, but Jack paid no notice: his eyes were glued to Mark, his jaw clenched in pure hatred. As Mark's eyes flicked over my backup, I did a head count of his. Seventeen, exactly matching mine. Of course, Mark and I were each the eighteenth. I caught Mark looking at Jack with a cool smirk and a knot began to form itself in my stomach. Maybe I'm not the one Mark wants to fight.

"What'd you bring him for, Jacobs?" Mark sneered. "Should've left him in the dumpster where you found him. Or taken him back to his mother at the whore house." I felt Jack twitch at my side and before I knew it, I was standing between Jack and Mark, while Snoddy and Mush tried to haul Jack back by his shirt. Mark and his boys cackled and Racetrack glared in their direction.

"Shaddup, yah nancy boy. 'Least hookahs get paid tah sleep around, unlike yah own muddah," he said. The rest of the newsies chuckled quietly, while a hush fell over the opposition.

"What'd you say about my mother?" Mark hissed, eyes narrowed.

"You heard me," Racetrack said coldly. "I called yah muddah a _whore_."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Mark said. Racetrack stepped forward, between Jack and I. Jack began to calm down and, instead of trying to fight Snoddy and Mush off, simply regarded Racetrack with amusement. I looked at him carefully out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm Racetrack Higgins," he said in his smart aleck tone. "I'll be pounding yah head in today."

This time, Mark snapped and lunged at Racetrack; it only took Aaron to hold him off. Racetrack backed away, smiling victoriously. Once Mark had calmed himself, he looked straight at me.

"Well, I came here for a fight with Jacobs, and I'll have it," he said. He turned and nodded at his boys, who immediately back off. He looked at me expectantly and I assumed I was to do the same. As I did, I caught Jack's eye and he nodded at me encouragingly. The jeers began as I faced Mark. His lip curled. "You take the first shot, Jacobs."

As we began to circle, sweat trickled down my forehead. You know how people's lives flash before their eyes when they have a near death experience? All I could picture was my death. Mark standing over my bleeding, broken body. The newsies averting their eyes. Jack standing in shock. Jack giving the news to my family. My funeral, my gravestone. I began to sweat even harder.

"Punch me, you idiot," Mark hissed. I had no idea how I was going to do this. What if I just turned and ran? Would they track me down?

And then, a final image entered my mind. Mark, finding a quiet, bespeckled boy sitting at his desk. Batting the book out of his hands like a cat. Descending upon him like a lion on his prey. I had never seen this boy before, but something clicked in me. I wasn't doing this just for me. I was doing this for underdogs everywhere. And that's when I threw the first punch.

Cheers went up from my side of the circle surrounding us. Mark held his wounded cheek, looking at me in disbelief. He hadn't thought that I would hit him. I swung again, hitting him with my whole fist across the other cheek. More cheers from my guys. Mark made an advance toward me, but I side stepped away. I thrust my arm out again, my fist making contact with his stomach. He bent slightly, wincing. I took this opportunity to motion to the others to back me up and the circle broke up as a Brooklyn newsie punched the first non-newsie he saw.

The utter chaos began as pained cries rang out. Newsboys were tangled into rather painful looking grips. In all the action, I couldn't make out who had the upper hand. I finally caught sight of Jack, ducking Aaron's swing, when something hit me quite painfully in the temple. My hand went to my wound as another fist came flying at my mouth. I managed to duck that one, but the fist came back at my stomach. I doubled over in pain and, as I struggled to reclaim my lead, a flash of silver caught my eye. I looked up to see Mark holding a small blade above my head. He looked ready to strike. This was the end. I closed my eyes and waited for the blade to sink into my flesh.

The pain was piercing - in my shoulder. I clutched it automatically and the blood gushed through my fingers. I cracked an eye open and saw Mark, still standing there. The blade was coated in my blood, but Mark didn't look like he had missed. He bent down and leaned into my ear.

"A little preview of what's to come," he whispered. "When my side wins." I barely made out the words; the pain was too overwhelming to think. As I collapsed to the ground, I saw, through my increasingly fuzzy vision, Jack running toward me, swinging at Mark blindly like a mad man. A group of about five newsies had swarmed Mark, while the others held off the few remaining opposing boys. The rest laid sprawled on the ground.

"Dave! You gonna be okay? Speak tah me, Dave!" a panicked voice yelled in my ear. I mumbled something incoherently and I could hear muffled shouting around me. "Somebody get a doctah! Come on, Dave, hold on!" the panicked voice cried. As I slipped into blackness, I thought I heard someone shouting in pain that sounded an awful lot like Mark...

* * *

As the fuzzy figures surrounding me began to take shape and facial features, their voices came into clarity.

"When's 'e gonna wake up?"

"Dunno. Nurse said 'e suffahed from blood lost or somethin'."

"You should see Mark, 'es got a black eye da size 'a Cowboy's fist."

"Where is 'e anyway?"

"Think 'e went tah get Dave's family, or somethin'. Or maybe he went to kill Mark."

"It'd serve dah idiot right. Bringin' a knife to a fist fight."

"Lucky 'e didn' kill Dave, eh?"

"Well, from the way I'm feeling, I'd say not so lucky," I mumbled. Four relieved faces pressed closer to me. "Where am I anyway?"

"Hospital," one voice said. My vision was still blurry and I couldn't match voices to faces.

"What happened?"

"Mark stabbed yah in dah shouldah," another voice answered. "We brought yah here right aftah Jack knocked Mark out." Gradually, my vision cleared and faces were recognizable. Racetrack, Mush, Snoddy and Itey crowded around my bedside. The hospital room was pure white and almost frightening in its cleanliness. I attempted to sit up, but the stinging pain in my shoulder prevented it.

"They got yah on opium," Snoddy told me. I attempted again to sit up. The pain stung, but I persisted. Finally, I managed to pull myself into a sitting position. My head spun and my injured arm lay limply at my side.

"When can I get out of here?" I asked.

"Dunno," Racetrack answered. "But yah won't be able tah go tah school for a long time." I smiled gratefully. That was the best news I'd heard all day.

"So how long have I been here?"

"'Bout two hours. We all came, but the nurse kicked most of us out. Said only four could stay, so here we are," Mush told me.

"Where's Jack?"

"We think he went to tell yah family, but 'e could be anywhere," Itey answered with a shrug.

"When will he be back?" I was answered by four indecisive shrugs. I lay back slightly, the bed creaking.

"Hey, you want anything, Dave?" Itey asked suddenly. "'Cause we can go out and get it."

"Well, I could use something to drink," I said. "And maybe one of you could go get my book from my dormitory. My roommate will know where to find it. Room 14." Itey nodded and headed toward the door. Racetrack sat down in the chair pulled up next to my bed and leaned back.

"So how'd you get us intah all 'a this, Dave?" he asked, hooking his thumbs underneath his suspenders. I sighed wearily.

"Well, basically it began with Mark being a jerk, moved on to me having bad comebacks and ended up with both of us being really full of ourselves," I explained briefly. Racetrack laughed.

"At least we won, eh?" he said. I brightened.

"We did?" Racetrack nodded. "Thank God. I don't think I could have kept hiding the inexplicable injuries."

"I know Jack's happy. 'E was really worried about yah," Mush said, nodding. As if on cue, Jack opened the door and closed it gently behind him. His face broke into a wide grin when he saw me awake.

"Dave! You're up!" he exclaimed, moving quickly toward the bed.

"Yeah, I am. In extreme pain, but up," I answered. "Did you talk to my parents?" Jack nodded. "How'd they take it?"

"Well, they're pretty worried about yah. They're waitin' for Sarah tah get home to come on ovah."

"Did you tell them about Mark?"

"Yeah. They're gonna try tah get Mark expelled."

I snorted. "Good luck," I said. Jack rolled his eyes. "Are they going to take me out of the dorms." Jack bit his lip and looked reluctant to tell me. "Jack. Tell me."

"No. They're not. They want you tah stick it out," he told me.

"_What? _I get stabbed and they're _making me stay?_"

"'Fraid so. They think it'll "improve yah studies" or somethin'," he said, screwing up his face in confusion. I exhaled sharply, trying to calm myself.

"Fine. That's...that's fine. We won. Mark will leave me alone," I said, reassuring myself.

"Uh, sure. Sure 'e will," Jack said unsurely.

"All right, everyone out! The patient needs his sleep!" the nurse cried, bustling into the room.

"He just slept for two hours!" Jack cried, indignant.

"He needs _more _sleep," the nurse insisted.

"I wanna talk to 'im!" Jack shouted.

"Jack...come on," Snoddy said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Jack nodded in defeat and followed Mush, Racetrack and Snoddy out the door, throwing one last glare at the nurse before closing the door behind him.

"Does your shoulder hurt?" the nurse asked, tutting sympathetically.

"Just a little," I told her. She gave me a disbelieving look. "All right, a lot," I admitted.

"Well, we'll just dose you with a little more opium and you can get back to sleep," she said, taking the pillow out from behind me. As I lay back down, she pulled the covers back over my chest.

"So young," she sighed, glancing at my shoulder.

* * *

Told you it'd be long. Well, what can we expect next chapter? ...I'm not sure. BUT! We can see who I'll be kissing. Two newsies next time, Itey and ((gasp)) Spot. Whoa. _That_ will be interesting. I get to kiss the infamous Mr. Conlon. Brooklyn. The Head Honcho. Spotty. Spotty Boy. Spottorino. Spoti-

**David: **Stop. Right. Now.

What are you so uptight and tense about you?

**David: **What am I so tense about? WHAT AM I SO TENSE ABOUT? YOU ALMOST KILLED ME!

I didn't almost _kill_ you. I made Mark stab you in the shoulder. Get over it.

**David: **Yeah, well, you'll be sorry if I take opium to ease my pain, become addicted and sell my five year old deaf and mute son to chimney sweeps to earn the money to pay for my addiction.

That's in _Search of the Moon King's Daughter_. Were you reading my library books again?

**David: **...No.

David...

**David: **It was moving, okay? Am I not allowed to be moved?

You're a guy.

**David: **So? I can still be moved.

Oh, you're right, you're David. You're part woman.

**David: **I AM NOT PART WOMAN!

Shhh, easy hon. Don't get yourself all worked up, granny panties.

**David: **ARRRRRRGGGGHHH!

((evil laughter))

newsiesmoseph


	8. Chapter Eight

Look who's back! Bet you thought I fell off the face of the earth, didn't ya? Well, no such luck. You can't get rid of me that easily. Anyway, I'm doing a whole slew of updates, trying to get back into things. I don't know how many of you read one of my other fics, _New York Is Calling Me_, but I wrote a somewhat lengthy explanation as to why I've been MIA for a while. Go ahead and read it if you want. Basically, it boils down to a stupid boy. Damn him. Damn him to hell (note the lack of conviction). Well, what better way to get over a boy than by writing about lots of hot boys? Anyway, onto my favourite activity: SHOUTOUTS!

**Ginny: **Wow! Four whole reviews! I'm impressed! You obviously have more time on your hands than I do! Just kidding, sorry. I do appreciate the dedication. I'm SO sorry about how long it took me to update again. I'm not quick with the updates anyway, but three months is sort of a record. And not a good one. NO MORE ASHLEY! ((dances with you)) I like to dance, even though I'm a terrible dancer. Yay for forcing everyone to watch _Newsies_! I totally forced a class to watch it and it _wasn't even my class_. That's power. It was also the last day of school before exams, so I had an excuse to skip my class, since all we were doing was watching _Napoleon Dynamite_. I do love _Napoleon Dynamite_, but compared to _Newsies_? No contest. I love kissing the newsies. It's just...((sigh)). If only it were real... Jack might cry! You know, if someone took away his Davey! ...Or his pretzel... OMG, THERE IS A _REAL_ MARK BUTLER? Scary... Well, not that it's such an exotic name, but still! Yay for Spot! Well, actually, no, I'm not too fond of Spot, but sometimes, he says awesome things. And sometimes I make him say awesome things. Yesh, Racetrack is amazing. Yay for insulting Mark! All right, here's the eighth chapter...finally. Enjoy it!

**TheAngryPrincess13: **There is never enough David in this world. Never enough... Thanks for the review!

**Mydela: **Aww, thank you! ((blushes)) Honestly, people need to stop telling me good things about this story. It's going to go to my head. ((coughcoughDON'TSTOPcoughcough)) Woop, another favourite! Thanks for the review!

**Kitty:** OH MY GOD, I'M TOTALLY IN A PRODUCTION OF _OLIVER_! It's performing in November and I'm SO EXCITED! Have you ever noticed the similarities between _Newsies_ and _Oliver_? A musical about young boys set in an urban centre in the late 19th century. Plus, you know, other things. Oh, way too many 'your mom' jokes going on in my head. MY CIT AT CAMP IS A BAD INFLUENCE ON ME! Well, I mean, I wrote this before I went to camp, but, you know. Yes, that one was a page turner...or a mouse clicker or button scroller or something. However that translate to the Internet. Thanks for the review!

**Hollywood: **Dahling! Mwah! Mwah! I appreciate the patience. I also understand any lack of patience for this chapter. But it's finally here! I'm sorry, I'm very happy. Yay for newsie kisses. Yay for British-ness! Christian Bale...((steadies self to keep from collapsing)) I'm okay, I'm okay. Yep, Mark's a manwhore. Pure, unadulterated...loathing! For your face, your voice, your clothing! NO MOSEPH! No more bursting into spontaneous song! You KNOW it was good advice! Come on, Jack knows this things! _Everyone_ goes for the mothers at my school. Like everything is, "_Your mom_!" or, "_Your face!_" It's really quite sad...but also funny. No, I'm not stealing copyrighted characters...((shifty eyes)) Don't worry, he didn't _actually_ die, he was just...wounded. Severely. Thanks for the review!

**Nosilla: **All right, I'm sorry I couldn't comply with your request for a quick update, but it's finally here! Hope you haven't left me. Thanks for the review!

**StormShadow21: **CHELSEA! I MISSED YOU IN MY ABSENCE! Mmmm, I love the smell of irony in the morning. Well, David's pretty lame, but that's part of his charm. The lameness. Well, maybe "urchin" is this century's...umm..."your mom"? Mmm...Skittery. Oh, the angst. Jack's brilliance is horribly unrecognized. Because it's fun to make him stupid. But he can be smart sometimes. And that was just a bit of awesomeness. Really? Snoddy? Hmm, I've never really looked at Snoddy that way before. You know, he's Snoddy. As in, you know, lots of mucus. I'll think about it... Yay for drugs! Well, you know what I mean. I get to kiss Spot! ((kissing dance...sorta like a rain dance)) I'm sorry this chapter has been such a long wait, but it's finally here, so you'd better appreciate it! Kidding, although I do hope you like it. Thanks for the review!

**Elphie: **Elphie dearest! Well, actually, David was the original granny panties, but I changed it to you. It was funnier with you, anyway. Well, no, it was better calling David granny panties, but the conversation worked out better. It doesn't matter, we haven't thought about that in a while. Hah, pickup lines are hilarious. If anyone used one on me, I'd literally laugh in their face. Bwah hah, I love all your Jack hugging and such. It _is_ good advice. At least, I think it is. I love how everything you comment on has to do with Jack. Would you like it if this story was all about Jack? Well, it wouldn't work. Jack wouldn't get beaten up because he would kick the shit out of Mark. And Jack would never go to private school. You know, it's a sign of love and adoration when you kill off a character! It is! It _is_, David! Love you, Elphers! Thanks for the review!

**Brunette: **And with every long chapter, goes a long review! And that makes _me_ happy. Hah, _Napoleon Dynamite_, so over quoted. But still, so good. So pointless, but so good. All right, enough of the Napoleon worshipping. Well, I _might_ have gotten the inspiration from the Hellie drawing (by the way, I'm sure you got my review, but I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU KILLED HER! Not that I'm sad, I'm just very surprised). Ew, David without a face. Flashbacks of _Dawn of the Dead_. I watched that yesterday at a party and I literally did not sleep at all last night. Like, _not at all_. And at five thirty in the morning, I was reading a crap book to occupy myself and I noticed this strange light coming through my window and I was like, "Oh my God, it's the apocalypse!" And then I realized it was the sun rising. I'm so sad. That was an interesting worthless anecdote. I enjoy worthless anecdotes. Skittery IS so awesome. He's such a random character. You can totally place him anywhere. I like calling them pretty boys. Because I like the phrase pretty boys. LOL is a greatly misused phrase. Not misused, maybe, so much as overused. In any case, you're right, it does get boring after a while. I loved watching Jack kick his ass. Well, not watching, but you know... Race is amazing, too. Yeah, I know he's a character I invented, but I fucking hate Mark. He's pure evil. HE STABBED MY DAVEY! I know I'm the writer of this story, but I kind of hope Jack does kill Mark in the end. Vaudeville! We'll see... Those comebacks were really bad. Sorry the update took so long, but it's here now! I also apologize for not reviewing a lot lately. I still read them and enjoy them! Oh, and all those hits on your profile? Probably 30 of them are from me, because I constantly read it. I actually really enjoy reading your profile. Even before the whole _Coming Out_ controversy. I know you won't, but don't worry about it too much. You're still a good writer and I love you! Well, as much as I can love someone that I've never met. You really amaze me with your skills and how much you bring the reader into a story. Oh, and it made me happy to see that this is your favourite _Newsies_ fic. Really, really happy. That meant a lot. I put a lot of work into this and it's my favourite multi-chaptered story that I wrote. My, this is getting far to long. Thanks for the review!

**Sprints 100: **Damn the computers! Damn _all_ the computers! Wait, wait, I didn't mean that! Hey, I just appreciate it when my stories are read. Review whenever you want. Pickup lines are so funny and they're even funnier when they're delivered by Snitch. Yep, Jack gives sound advice. Thanks for the review!

**kaitlins: **I'm sorry I'm such a slow updater. I would have liked for you to read it when it was finished, but I'm just too slow. Hell, I don't even know what's going to happen in the next chapter. After this one, I mean. Yeah. Thank you so much! I really love writing this fic, so it makes me happy that people actually enjoy it. I got the idea from writing a chapter of one of my other fics, about David in school. I've never read any other fics about David in school, but I'd like to find some. You know, compare. Jack's a smarty pants. For once. I'm very concerned for David's future. ((shields David from big bad bullies)) Hmm...newsies being jealous of David? Wow...that's a really interesting thought. That never occurred to me. Hmmm... ((thinks)) That might actually find its way into the fic at some point. Thanks! Don't worry, it wasn't rambling. You ain't seen rambling until you've seen me ramble. Thanks for the review!

Omigosh, I can't believe I almost forgot! IT'S NEWSIE KISSIN' TIME! ((newsie kissin' dance)) My oh my, I've missed this! I can't remember how long it's been since I've kissed a newsie, but it's been a long time! Alrighty, let's check the list. I think we'll go with two newsies today, let's see: Itey and Spot! Itey! Where are you, Itey?

**Itey: **Present! ((waves hand in air))

Yay! Let's get to it!

**Itey: **((dips me)) Ma cherie amour... ((goes in for the kiss))

Wait! Before we kiss, can I ask you something?

**Itey: **((sigh)) Fine. ((drops me))

Um, ouch? Okay, so, at the lodging house, why do you share a bed with Snitch?

**Itey: **((shrug)) Better than sharing a bed with Blink. That kid stinks, you know.

Okay, fair enough. But why can't you have your own bed?

**Itey: **((shifty eyed)) There are no beds leftover for me...

Hmm, let's check, shall we? ((watches opening scene)) There's a bed! And there's one! Why can't you sleep in one of those beds?

**Itey: **They...have...bedbugs...

You know what _I_ think? _I_ think that you enjoy sharing a bed with Snitch! All that thumbsucking turns you on!

**Itey: **NUH UH!

YUH HUH!

**Itey: **NUH UH!

YUH HUH!

**Itey: **...

...((awkward silence))...

**Itey: **...Can I kiss you now?

I think you should before I change my mind.

**Itey: **((smoochie))

Um...begone. Next! Spot! Get your tiny Brooklyn ass out here!

...((nothing))...

Spot?

...((nothing))...

Spotty?

...((nothing))...

Where are you?

**Spot: **((storming in)) What the f-

((cough))PG-13!((cough))

**Spot: **Oh. Right. ((waves sheepishly at readers)) What the flip is this?

Um...what?

**Spot: **THIS! ((brandishes laptop, points at screen)) See? How do you explain that?

((reads)) Umm...it wasn't me?

**Spot: **The f-

((COUGH!))

**Spot: **The fudge it isn't!

Okay, well, it was a really dramatic moment, and-

**Spot: **Dramatic moment? That your excuse for calling me a "God-fucking-damn Munchkin"?

((cou-))

**Spot: **They're your words!

Well...you are rather small...

**Spot:** You don't think I'm perfectly aware of that? And how does that excuse you from calling me a "sorry excuse of a leader" and a "bloody, moronic pipsqueak"?

Well, come on! Give me the pipsqueak thing!

**Spot: **No! Why would you call me that?

YOU WERE GOING TO KILL DAVID!

**Spot: **HE DESERVED IT!

YOU WERE BEING UNREASONABLE!

**Spot: **HE STOLE MY WOMAN!

SHE'S A WOMAN, NOT A BIKE!

**Spot: **HE STILL STOLE HER!

WILL YOU SHUT UP AND KISS ME ALREADY?

**Spot: **NO!

OKAY!

**Spot: **...

...((shiftyeyes))...

**Spot: **...

...Honestly, will you just kiss me? Because you're going to have to kiss me at some point, whether you want to or not. Better to get it over and done with.

**Spot: **No! I'm not talking to you until you apologize! ((storms away))

...((blink))...

**Spot: **((storms back)) Or until you get me a twenty dollar gift certificate from the Gap! ((storms away))

...((blinkblink))...

**Spot: **((storms back)) Don't judge me, they have nice khakis! ((storms away))

...All right, well, on that...disturbing note, I think I'll get on to the chapter. Oh right, **disclaimer**. I always forget that. Right, right, I don't own _Newsies_. Like you didn't already _know_ that. Damn legal reasons... Anyway, I do own all the original characters like Nurse Willow (whom you're about to meet...) and Mark. Happy reading to you all! And welcome back to me!

* * *

I had been in the hospital for five days before my parents came to visit me.

I had given up hope by the second day.

My mother sat gingerly in the rickety chair closest to my bed and reached out a hand to stroke mine maternally. I didn't look at her, just continued to read my book.

"David, honey, I know you're mad at me," she said softly.

"Wouldn't you be?" I asked, without looking at her. She didn't respond immediately; she sighed, instead, and stopped stroking my hand.

"We're just trying to do what's best for you, darling," she said. I slammed my book shut, set it on the table by my bed and gave my mother the most loathing look I could muster.

"I can't believe you're making me stay there. Someone is trying to _kill me_ and you think it's in my best interest to live there. You and Papa both have more severe psychological problems than I'd thought."

"It might not seem like the best thing for you now, but you'll thank us later."

"Oh, the old 'You'll thank us later' speech. When did you suddenly become my all knowing mother?"

"When did you become my defiant, big headed son?"

"I am not big headed!"

"David..."

"...Okay, maybe a little. But Ma, what could possibly make you think this is a good idea?"

"Less commuting for you and less stress for your father and I."

"What, the thought of your eldest son being smothered in his sleep doesn't concern you at all? Not even a little?"

"David, you know we care greatly for you. That's why we've asked your teacher to watch over you." I leaned back on my propped up pillows and sighed. Great. With Mr. Garrison as my supervisor, I'm sure I'll be safer than ever.

"Is Papa coming?" I muttered at her.

"Yes, he's talking to the doctor. Sarah's at home with Les."

"Are they going to come later?"

"We can bring them back for a visit tomorrow if you like. Les has been begging to see you." That made me smile. After all those years, Les finally recognized that we share genetic material.

The door opened slowly and my father's head poked through the crack between the door and the frame. His moustached grin broadened slightly when he saw me. "Good, David, you're up," he said, stepping into the room and shutting the door gently behind him. He sat in the chair on the other side of my bed, so there was no possible route of escape. A sure sign I was in for a long talk or lecture.

"Now, David," my father began, moustache twitching. "We wanted to talk to you about -"

"Out, out, out!" cried a shrill voice and, thankfully, Nurse Willow came shrieking into the room, shoving my parents toward the door. "The patient needs his rest! Out, out, out!"

"We'll be back, David!" my mother called hopelessly over her shoulder, shortly before the door slammed in her face. Nurse Willow sighed happily and started fussing over my sheets.

"Thank you," I said gratefully. She said nothing in reply, just gave me a knowing smile and straightened out the corners of the heavy blanket on top of my bed.

Quickly after being admitted to the hospital, I became Nurse Willow's favourite patient. We rarely spoke, but we had an odd sort of bond between us. She would often take extra care in putting out flowers beside my bed or opening the window so I could see outside, and I would leave little notes to her on my bedside table. It was an odd little game, but it was nice to have someone on my side for a change.

She also took a liking to Jack and would sneak him in to visit me past visiting hours, sometimes claiming he was her son or nephew or even her boyfriend come to see her at work. Jack played along accordingly, bringing her flowers or fresh bread (stolen, no doubt) and kissing her on the cheek. She'd always blush and sweep away, leaving me with Jack to discuss the latest.

"Boots found a dead pigeon and brought it back to the lodging house, stunk up da joint," Jack was telling me that evening, after my parents had left the premises. "And Skittery's on da run from da bulls again. The louse got himself caught again, tryin' ta sneak intah da dressin' room at Medda's joint. He got thrown out and Medda called da coppahs, but dey ain't found 'im yet." I grinned at the thought of Skittery trying to inconspicuously sneak into the dressing room at Irving Hall. "Oh, and dis is da best: Snipeshooter's got hisself a _goilfriend_." Jack erupted into evil cackles and sat back in his chair, munching on the apple he pocketed on the way to see me. I shifted in my bed, jostling my arm painfully against the metal bar that kept me from escaping. Where do they expect me to go with this arm in a hospital gown?

"So, what's new heah?" Jack asked, propping his feet up on my bed and crunching into his apple again. I rolled my eyes.

"It's a hospital. Broken limbs. Terminal illnesses. Inedible food. What do you _think_ is new?" I snipped. Jack held his palms up in a defensive pose.

"Whoa, someone hasn't had his opium today," he chuckled. "Whassa mattah?" I sighed and rubbed my forehead with the hand on my good arm.

"Nothing, it's just...my parents," I stated lamely, looking out the window.

"Yeah...?" Jack prompted as if I were an idiot. I turned my head sharply and looked at him.

"I hate them," I said simply. Jack nodded in understanding and flipped his apple core in the air. It landed neatly in his palm and he tossed it in the can beside my bed.

"Oh. So did dey finally come 'n' see ya?" he asked. Jack, unlike my "loving" parents, had been to see my every single day since my injury, sometimes twice, and regularly listened to me gripe about them and their lack of concern for me. And now that they've come, he's going to listen to me gripe about how annoying and stupid they are.

"I don't understand them!" I cried in frustration. "I mean, they're always telling me, 'David, we care about you,' and, 'David, we want the best for you,' but then I get _stabbed_ at school and apparently, it's better for me to stay there where there are people who want to _kill_ me! I mean, either they are severely mentally disturbed or they can't admit that they're wrong." I exhaled deeply and dropped my head back so it clunked against the metal frame. The sound reverberated in my head, but the pain it shot through my skull felt almost easing, so I did it once more. I closed my eyes and revelled in the feeling. It was then that I noticed Jack was completely silent, which was highly abnormal for a talkative fellow like Jack.

"Any thoughts?" I asked, cracking an eye open. Jack sighed deeply and wearily and took his feet off my bed. He avoided my eyes for a moment, pressing his fingertips into his knuckles and watching them turn chalky white. He sighed again deeply and eased back further in his chair. I prepared myself for some rare, sage wisdom from Jack Kelly.

"David..." He stared into the distance for a moment, looking studious and thoughtful. After a long pause, he finally said, "I don't know." I groaned with my usual 'Jack is an idiot and it pains me greatly' frustration.

"Thank you, Jack, that was very profound," I drawled sarcastically at him. Jack nodded in the same astute manner and looked as though he would have liked a pipe to chew on. We were spared several more minutes of silence when Nurse Willow burst into the room hysterically. Jack stood immediately.

"Adriane, what is it?" Jack asked with concern, touching her arm in a manner that was more than required of him. I wondered briefly how Jack knew her first name and how Sarah would feel if she saw the interaction between the two of them. My sister was the jealous type, heaven knows, and didn't like Jack to come within three feet of any female under the age of ninety-four. Nurse Willow collapsed into the chair previously occupied by Jack and shielded her damp, flushed face with her hand. Her left hand fell into her lap, a sheaf of paper loose between her fingertips.

"Adriane?" Jack asked softly, prodding her gently with his palm. She simply sobbed harder. Jack reached very slowly for the piece of paper in her hand. His fingers were barely an inch from it when she inhaled sharply and snatched the paper from her lap, bringing it close to her face. Jack immediately backed away from the sobbing woman and sat on my feet. I screwed my face into horribly pained expressions until he got the hint.

_"Dear Miss Adriane Willow,"_ Nurse Willow began shrilly, her voice coloured with fury and disbelief. She wiped away a tear forming in her eye and ignored the drop that fell on the paper. _"We have been informed of your illicit relationship with your patient, David Jacobs. You are hereby relieved of your post and we ask that you do not return to this hospital again. Sincerely, the Board of Health." _Nurse Willow brought the paper back to her lap with flourish and stared at me with a bewildered look in her eyes. I gazed at her with the same expression. _Illicit relationship!_ Jack's the one with the bloody illicit relationship.

Nurse Willow collapsed into tears again before either of us could express our disbelief. Jack went to her and put a comforting arm around her.

"What I'd like tah know," Jack said, his voice rising, "is who dah hell told dah Board 'a Whatevah dat you two was boinking."

Nurse Willow went into another round of wails and sobs and I rolled my eyes at Jack's astounding lack of tact.

"Classy, Jack," I muttered. "Still, you pose an interesting question..." Who _would_ inform the Board of Health of a ficticious relationship between Nurse Willow and myself? No functional human being could possibly read into our friendship _that_ much, and I doubted a kindly person such as Nurse Willow could have any enemies that would wish to sabotage her career. So that left me. And then it clicked.

"Mark." It came so softly at first that even I barely heard it. Neither Jack nor Nurse Willow took any notice of me. "Mark," I said a little louder. Jack's head turned upward sharply.

"What?" Jack hissed underneath his breath. The very utterance of the name of that behemoth took quick effect on Jack. His eyebrows knitted, his jaw clenched, his eyes flamed, his body tensed, the veins in his forehead swelled toward the surface of his skin. Most noticeably, his fingers curled into a fist and the bruises on his knuckles appeared to glow a glorious, more brilliant purple. Jack seemed to harbour an equal, if not greater, furious hatred toward my tormentor.

The more my mind raced, gripping onto facts and evidence, the more sense it made.

"Think about it. Mark loathes me and wants to bring me down. He has countless lackies willing to spy on Nurse Willow and me for him. His family is influential enough that his word wouldn't be questioned. He could say a few words to Daddy or write a note to a family friend on the board and they'd dismiss Nurse Willow without question. Don't you see it? He can't take me down all at once so he's breaking me bit by bit! First, by weakening me physically, now he's taking out my emotional support." A terrible thought dawned on me. "Oh God, Jack...Jack, whatever you do, _be careful_. You're logically one of his next targets."

Jack simply blinked at me. "That was a lotta information tah take in in one minute, Dave," he informed me.

"Well, doesn't it make sense?" I asked urgently. Jack shrugged noncommittally.

"I dunno, Dave," he said thoughtfully. "I mean, I know dah guy's dah lowest, lousiest scumbag evah tah walk the earth, but dat sounds kinda complicated. Yah really t'ink someone as stupid as Mark is gonna go tah all dat trouble just tah make yah drop out?"

Nurse Willow punctuated our conversation with a loud wail.

"You underestimate how much Mark hates me," I muttered. "And he'd be happy for a reason to off you too." Jack rolled his eyes as if Mark presented no threat. "Look, all I'm saying is watch your back, okay?" Mark hates both of us and doing permanent damage to you would be a blow to us both." Jack leaned his weight against my bedside table, making it shudder and creak.

"So whaddaya want me tah do? Get a bodyguard?" he scoffed.

"No, but it would be a good idea not to go anywhere alone. And I wouldn't suggest walking in Queens, either." Jack looked insulted at my telling him where to walk.

"You don't t'ink I can defend meself? I had him last time, didn' I?"

Nurse Willow interrupted our conversation again, this time with a sudden, shaky gasp, followed by more sobs.

"Last time, you had the support of seventeen newsies," I tried to reason with him. "Mark plays dirty. Exhibit A, my shoulder. It's entirely likely that Mark would show up in Manhattan with twenty boys, looking for you. I have faith in you Jack, but I don't think even you can take on twenty armed guys by yourself." Jack pouted for a moment, like a toddler who'd just been told he's not old enough to do what his big brother is doing.

"I can too," he eventually muttered, with all the maturity of a two year old. He crouched beside Nurse Willow's chair and her head fell on his shoulder. He stroked her hair comfortingly. I stared out the window again, thinking about Mark and what an evil bastard he was. I hope he dies.

* * *

And now it's over! Okay, it was a bit short (well, the actual story, at least) and the ending was kind of weird, but it advanced the plot! Who here hates Mark even more? ((raises hand)) And now we just have one last thing to take care of...

**Spot: **((scowls, crosses arms))

Come on, Spot, you have to kiss me!

**Spot: **No.

Pleeeeease?

**Spot: **No.

The chapter can't end without it!

**Spot: **No.

...What if I called you the King of Brooklyn?

**Spot: **...Go on...

You're the king, Spot. There's no one greater.

**Spot: **((shifty eyes))

You're _my_ king, Spot. I'm not even worthy to stand before you.

**Spot: **Okay, enough, let's do it. ((pounces))

WH- ((is tackled))

**David: **((shuffles in uncomfortably)) Um..hi folks. Moseph's a little...busy, right now.

RIDE 'EM, COWBOY!

**David: **Um, yeah. But, if she wasn't a little preoccupied with Spot -

**Spot: **YEAH, BABY! I AM THE _KING!_

**David: **- she'd tell you to read and review, please! Welcome back!

COME ON, BROOKLYN, GIMME WHAT YOU GOT!

moseph

P.S. If anyone wants to read about me calling Spot all those names, go read _Hellie 'a Brooklyn_ by Brunette and read the reviews. You'll find my review...somewhere. Actually, read all my reviews. They're hilarious. Not that I'm being immodest or anything...

P.P.S. Oh, and read the story, too. It's AMAZING!


	9. Chapter Nine

_Oh, my lovely reviewers, how I have missed thee! Yes, I'm back with an update! Huzzah! Huzzah! Much rejoicing will be had by all, I'm sure. But, this is not the same old fic I left you with. I'm going to be making a few changes around here._

_First off, in accordance to FFN laws, no more shoutouts. Sorry ladies, but aside from being illegal, they take longer to get through than the fic and I'd much rather focus on plot now. Secondly, newsie kissin' time is over. Again, too long. _

_That aside, I want to thank you all for sticking with me, even with my infrequent updates and such. I really am trying to get back into the swing of things and I hope you'll all bare with me for a while. I'm branching out a bit from the _Newsies_ fandom and experimenting in the new _Twilight_ fandom. (By the way, I urge all of you to read _Twilight_ by Stephenie Meyer, especially if you're a fan of vampires.) _

_And, to my lovely reviewers: **lynneanne**, **NewsieGoil1899**, **Ginny**, **kaitins**, **Hollywood**, **LegallyRed**, **Brunette** and **StormShadow21**. You guys rock incredibly hard. Don't give up on me, please! _

_**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Newsies _or anything else by Disney. Anyone you don't recognize is property of me. That is all. _

* * *

The verdant grass rippled in the surprisingly warm breeze, the sun peaked through the clouds in a rare moment of shining glory, and the normally greyish sky glowed a brilliant blue.

And Sir Martin's Private School for Boys still managed to look like a state prison.

I was already certain that my first day back at school after a lengthy hospital stay would be more miserable than could possibly be imagined. Even in beautiful weather, the building alone was more foreboding to me than an ax-wielding farmer to a pig. I'd spent much of the journey here preparing to steel myself against the onslaught of whispers and dirty looks I was sure to endure.

Of course, I should have prepared myself for disappointment as well.

It was as if I'd turned invisible. Not a single look, not a single gesture. Not even a whispered rumour about my drug addiction or me being my sister's pimp.

No sooner had I sat down at my desk at the front than Mr. Garrison called me to his desk and handed me a slip of paper.

"The principal's office, Master Jacobs. Now."

I've finally done it. I've been expelled. I've never been expelled before in my _life_. Boys like me don't get expelled! They get honors!

I took the note and started my long, shaky walk down the hall towards the principal's office. And as I walked, I reflected.

In the past three months I have been

1) sent to a prison-esque private school for boys  
2) beaten multiple times by a numbskull with half of my wit  
3) an outright liar regarding said beatings  
4) suspended for fighting  
5) sent away from home to board at said private school  
6) involved in a brutal, all out brawl between newsboys and rich kids  
7) stabbed in the shoulder  
8) responsible for getting an innocent nurse fired, and  
9) snubbed by my own parents.

Where did I go wrong? I used to be such a good kid and now look at me!

The principal was waiting for me when I arrived. His face was oddly composed and he didn't look at all gleeful, nor remorseful. He simply asked me to sit and took his own seat behind a gorgeous oak desk.

"Master Jacobs...David," he corrected himself. He leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the desk. "I don't suppose you know why you're here.

"I assume you're going to expel me for fighting." Might as well forget the formalities now. Oddly enough, Principal Wood just smiled.

"Yes, that is what I said I would do, isn't it? And I suppose I probably should. But you won't be expelled today, David." He paused and looked at me thoughtfully. "David, you're a smart boy. You deserve to know the truth. Do you know what kind of school this is?"

I simply stared at him, shocked. Not only was he not expelling me, but he brought me here to ask me a riddle?

"Erm...a private school?" I guessed. He smiled kindly. He looked oddly calm.

"Yes, yes, it is that, but more importantly, it's a reform school of sorts." My thoughts drifted back to a conversation I'd had with Jimmy, but the information I'd just been given still didn't make much sense.

"Sir?"

"Our school offers wealthy parents a place to send their ill-mannered, unloved children, but in a much more discreet matter. No well-to-do would admit to sending their son to a boarding school for the socially challenged."

That made more sense, but what did this have to do with me?

"I assume you're wondering what this has to do with you."

Well, _that_ wasn't scary."

Principal Wood stood and strode across his office to examine one of his many degrees. "To remain a private school, we have to maintain a certain level of education, meaning out students must achieve certain grades. Unfortunately, most of the boys here have the IQ of warm butter." He turned around and smiled again at my astounded face. "Oh, let's not kid ourselves, David, you must have had similar thoughts."

Okay, he knew me too well.

"Our school's average was so low that we were forced to do something about it. That's where you came in. We scouted you out from your former school. Talked to your teachers, your parents. Of course, you're mother and father were skeptical about sending you here. Something about you selling newspapers, I don't know. But we offered them generous compensation. And here you are."

Principal Wood looked at me expectantly. I let all this process in my brain.

"So…you're paying my parents to send me here to make the school look good?" Principal Wood beamed.

"Precisely."

I sat in silence. I really should have been angry. I should have. My parents were sacrificing my safety to bring in more money. But, strangely enough, I felt almost at peace with the agreement.

"So we're all understood?" I nodded slowly.

"Yes. Yes, we're all understood."

"Excellent. Then we won't be expelling you today. Although, I'd watch out for Master Butler if I were you. Don't want to be causing any more trouble. Back to class with you."

This time, the walk down the hall was shorter.

Even upon my return to class, no one said a word or even looked at me. Somehow, I liked being invisible. I sat in my seat and paid absolutely no attention to the lesson.

This was how I saw it: yes, my life was at risk as long as I was in the same school as Mark Butler. But, forgetting how nasty my parents had been to me, my being here was providing a future for Les and Sarah, and that was all that really mattered, wasn't it? Of course, my mother and father could have _told_ me what was going on instead of making believe they were crazy, but I suppose I'll get over it eventually.

Mr. Garrison was asking a question I knew the answer to. For the first time in Sir Martin's history, I raised my hand.

* * *

_I know, I know, it was short. But we're now on our way to a more intellectual, less violent _Falling Down Stairs_! And perhaps, if we're lucky, David won't be beaten up anymore! _

_Love,_

_moseph_

_PS: Pluggage time! Read everything and anything by **Brunette**, but especially _Club Ten_ and _Twenty One_, cause they go together, see? (Like rama-lama-lama, ka-digiddy ding-di-dong!)_


	10. Chapter Ten

_Author's Note: Another July, another update. (See what I did there? I made a joke about my inability to update promptly. So you should be laughing. Why aren't you laughing? LAUGH, DAMNIT!) _

_Guys… I don't know what to say other than I missed my Daveykins and had plot ideas, at last! Those of you who are devoted to this story, you should know that this WILL have an ending by the time I graduate in a year. I love it and all of you too much. _

_My beautiful, amazing, hilarious reviewers: __**Purple Rhapsody, LegallyRed, kaitins, lynneanne, Brunette, kittykatgoil1899, xXxHere Without YouxXx, LateOrliBloomer **__and __**Maddiecake**__. You all rock my socks in your own, special, individual ways. And hot damn, I miss doing shout outs. _

_**Disclaimer:**__ Blah blah blah, don't own _Newsies_, blah blah blah, original characters are mine, blah blah blah, legalities and crap, blah blah blah, don't steal cuz it's bad. ONWARD TO CAMELOT! (Wait, no, wrong movie.)_

* * *

Three weeks passed at Sir Martin's without any events more significant than a fire drill coming to pass. I wrote essays, I read my novels, I wrote letters to my parents, my siblings and the literate newsies. I began to taste normalcy, for once, at Sir Martin's and fall into routines that didn't involve hiding from thugs or tending to my wounds.

Jim was glad to have his roomie back, after my extended absence, and we were thick as thieves within a day of my return. One Saturday night, he snuck a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen and we drank it together. My first drunken experience was a fairly uneventful one, until one o'clock in the morning. We'd just calmed ourselves after laughing for fifteen minutes at Jim and his incoherence when a troubling thought entered my mind.

"Jim?" I asked, struggling to keep my words clear and audible, which wasn't difficult due to the shockingly small amount of liquor I'd drunk.

"Yeah?" Jim's words were much more slurred. The bottle, at that time, was nearly empty and Jim had drunk everything I hadn't.

"D'you remember, when I first got here, telling me that everyone here had a story?"

"Yeah."

"And the principal told me that this is basically a reform school for the rich and privileged."

"Right."

"So… how did you wind up here?"

The silence was tangible and long, causing me to think he might have slipped out of consciousness before he could answer my question. I contemplated poking him with my foot when a sharp intake of breath warned me not to.

"I was three when my mother killed herself."

Another long silence followed. This time, I didn't even think to interrupt; I knew there was more to come. Jim laughed slightly to himself.

"Dad, he… he always liked the drink, but he really hit it hard after she went. D'you know what my first memory of him is? I was five and I'd heard a loud noise in his study. I came downstairs to find he'd drunkenly fallen out of his chair. He was lying on the floor, smelly and drooling. I couldn't bear to think that he was my father, my kin."

The words were not so slurred anymore. He must have been working up everything in him to tell me the story of his life and tell it right.

"I rarely saw him. I was always out of the house, at various schools or staying with relatives. Any time I did see him, he was too drunk to recognize me. After ten years of being bounced around, I was finally sent back to him with no other place to go."

Another sharp intake of breath, another long pause and I heard the last bit of whiskey sloshing around the neck of the bottle, pouring down his throat.

"He tormented me. I was nothing to him if not a reminder of my mother and he _hated_ her for dying. Irrational, of course, but my father wouldn't recognize ration unless it came in glass-bottle form."

In the dim light from our lamp, I saw Jim roll up the sleeve of his crisp, tailored shirt. Suddenly, he stuck his arm in front of my face. It was scratched, bruised and covered in scars. He pointed to a thick, round one near his wrist.

"That's from his cigar. I've got half a dozen of them in various places."

He paused again, clearly waiting for a reaction. I swallowed dry air, not feeling remotely drunk anymore. "What are the other scars from?" I asked hoarsely. There were several long, thin scars running up and down his forearms.

"I made those."

I couldn't muster a response to that right away. The idea that Jim, my sarcastic, sunny roommate, might try to harm himself shocked me. Finally, when I couldn't bear the silence, I managed a very small, "Why?"

Jim laughed dryly. "Living with my father has an odd way of stirring thoughts of suicide in people. My mother did it. His mother did it. I would have been only one in a long line of Griffin self-abusers."

The bottle of whiskey tipped over with a sharp _ping_ and, miraculously, didn't break. Not a drop touched the floor.

"I tried everything, Dave, I did. Anything to get me out of that hell hole. My father always assumed that he'd made all those scars, which he very well could've. I did everything short of finding a gun and putting it in my mouth. Finally, my aunt – my mother's sister – came visiting and found me passed out on the bathroom floor. Pills and liquor. She arranged for me to be sent here.

"Dave, it's not so much what's wrong with me as what _isn't_ wrong with me. I've been to dozens of therapists, most unsuccessful. I'm doomed to a life of inadequacy and alcoholism. When I look at my father, that drunken, slobbering _bastard_, I don't see anything but myself in twenty, maybe fifteen years. That's the path that's been made for me. That's my future. And to think, I thought I might have had something better."

Jim laughed bitterly and fell silent. The floor reverberated as our neighbor flipped over in his sleep. The walls creaked. Minutes passed. I couldn't think of a single comforting word to say. For certain, I had problems, but Jim had no family, no future and nothing to look forward to. I couldn't help but feel guilty for wallowing in my own misery while Jim did nothing but try to cheer me.

Before I had a chance to voice my support, Jim spoke. "We never speak of this again, you hear me? Go to bed."

Silently, I obeyed, rising steadily and tiptoeing to my bed. Jim followed, after depositing the whiskey bottle in a dresser drawer. The clinking noises sounded like more than one bottle. Sadly, I drew the covers over my shoulders and shook thoughts of Jim's sorrow out of my head. The sooner I forgot it, the sooner we would be friends again and could go on pretending that nothing was wrong.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of footsteps in the corridor and the sight of frost on the window. My feet hit the floor and instantly retracted; the late November chill was finally beginning to spread. I glanced over my shoulder at Jim's bed; he was already gone. Odd, for a Sunday, but then, I imagined I'd overslept. Indeed, after I'd jumped into a pair of pants and a sweater, I left my room to find the entire dorm silent. I would be the last one down to breakfast.

The breakfast hall was as noisy as usual. The meal had already begun and I slid into my usual seat next to Jim. He smiled through a mouthful of muffin, the events of the previous night already forgotten. I smiled back and drank my orange juice.

Sir Martin's was never a fun place to be, but invisibility had its perks. For one, Mark hadn't chased me down in nearly a month and my grades were improving (though they never lacked) without the constant stress of being hunted game. No one said hello or saved me a seat (aside from Jim, of course) but then, no one called my family poor or threatened to kill me either. When outright friendliness was not available, I would happily take being unnoticed.

That said, Mark's behaviour was somewhat troubling. I assumed that he was keeping his end of the bargain after our brawl, that he would stay away from me, but it had still been a month since he'd had Nurse Willow fired and, given Mark's taste for vengeance and his lack of new prey, I wondered whether or not Mark was getting hungry for bloodshed.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I remained blissfully ignorant of any plans Mark had in store for me. He would not be getting me expelled, nor would he be getting expelled himself, so I had to assume that he was resigned to our respective fates.

The meal passed uneventfully and the entire room rose at once, play fighting and discussing the days plans. I was drifting across the room, not paying attention, when I collided with something rather solid and warm.

Mark certainly did have nice bicep muscles, I had to note as I unthinkingly grabbed one bulking arm to steady myself.

For a moment, his eyes went from my hand to my face and they had murder buried within them. I was sure I looked about ten seconds away from wetting myself. As others took notice of our face off, the room fell silent and every single boy waited for Mark's next move.

A polite grin broke on my oppressor's face. "Good morning, Master Jacobs," he said cheerfully, stepping back to make room for me to pass.

I caught Jim's face out of the corner of my eye. His mouth was wide open with surprise. I made certain my face did not reveal surprise or anger.

"Master Butler," I replied politely and moved past him.

I was sure I would feel a fist connect with the back of my head or, at the very least, a wad of spit on my neck, but it was calm waters from the dining hall all the way to the dormitory. Mark went into his own room with nothing more than a glance at me and, shaking off the strangeness of our encounter, I grabbed my coat and a stack of freshly written letters.

"I'm off to mail these," I said to Jim, holding up my stack as evidence. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

Jim nodded, then stretched out across his bed. He was closing his eyes as I shut the door behind me.

I was so focused on getting to the post office quickly and returning so I could work on my history essay that I barely noticed when I collided with another person for the second time that day. Knowing that it was not Mark, as he was still safely in his dorm, I merely apologized and made to pass.

"Dave!" a frantic voice yelled in my ear. "Dave, thank goodness, I was just comin' to get you!"

I turned slightly to take in the person I'd just bumped into. It was Skittery, looking pale and anxious, no newspapers in sight, not even a hat. His hair was mussed and there was a trace of stubble on his cheeks and chin.

"Skittery? What –"

"Dave, it's Jack. You gotta come quick, he's askin' for you."

"Skittery, I really have to work on –"

"DAVE."

He seized me by the arm to prevent my attempts at escaping and shook my slightly. I finally met his eyes. They were void of their usual warmth. The edge in his voice sounded too real for my liking.

"Dave, you gotta come. _Right. Now._" His teeth were clenched so tight I thought he might grind them into stubs. I paused, slightly fearful of my friend.

"Alright," I relented, putting a hand on his. His powerful grip on my arm didn't cease. "Alright, Skittery, let's go then."

We set off quickly, plowing past newsboys, vendors, street kids and well-to-do ladies out on a Sunday morning, going or coming from church. It was chilly out, but Skittery, wearing nothing more than worn corduroy pants, shoes with peeling soles and a thin cotton undershirt, seemed not to feel it. I stared at him in wonder and horror, at his frightening persistence, but he seemed so determined to bring me to Jack and get me there quick that the usually perceptive boy didn't notice my eyes.

We were nearing Duane Street and my step slackened slightly, noting our proximity. Instead of passing the apple vendor and walking toward the rickety two-storey building, home of my best friends in the world, we took a sharp left at the statue in Newsies Square and headed down a different street, this one slightly less familiar.

"Skittz? The lodging house is that way," I said, pointing rather uselessly over my shoulder at the quickly retreating buildings.

"We ain't going to the lodging house," Skittery replied sharply, not taking his eyes off the street ahead. He didn't offer any further explanation.

I had no idea where we going. I was starting to worry about my safety and that of my best friend. And furthermore, I could feel my arm beginning to bruise. Summoning all my remaining strength, I wrenched my arm out of captivity and whirled around to face Skittery. He motioned for my arm again.

"Dave, we ain't got time for this," he growled fiercely, moving toward me.

"No," I said, surprising myself with the firmness of my tone. "No, I'm not going another step before you tell me what's going on."

Skittery massaged his forehead, clearly struggling. "Dave, if you would just –"

"No!" I said again, taking another step back. "Skittery, tell me where we are going."

His hand hid his eyes for a second longer before he removed it and I could see his eyes, burning with sadness and anger. It was a frightening combination on this boy, who I'd always considered a friend requiring no conversation, who I'd always thought of as trustworthy, stable and unflappable. Nothing could penetrate Skittery's calm exterior, contrary to the ideas his name presented. His eyes bore into me, questioning my right to stand there and ask him our destination.

"We're goin' to the hospital, Dave." My eyes widened, but I stayed silent, waiting for further explanation. "It's Jack. He's been stabbed."

I made no protest when he grabbed my arm once more, marching me down the street.

_

* * *

_

_Okay, so that "no violence" thing turned out to be a bit of a lie. But this is so much better, don't you think? I mean, minus the sadness of Jack and all. _

_Aw, who am I kidding? I love killing and maiming characters. Here's hoping Jack kicks it, eh?_

_Anyhoo, I would like to name Radiohead as the official band of this chapter, for it got written with their influence and, well, why not, right?_

'_Til next time (and no promises when that might be),_

_moseph_

_P.S. Does anyone else think the profanity censor in the reviews really sucks? Because I swear like a sailor and it really pisses me off._


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Author's Note: Hey! I managed to update again in less than a year! Yay me!_

_Thank you all again for your awesome reviews. They keep this story alive, so keep 'em coming. _

_**Disclaimer:**_ _Newsies belongs to Disney. Don't hate me._

* * *

The hospital smelled like it used to: like bleach and death. I'd grown accustomed to it over my all-too-recent stay, but now, the smell made me gag. I hated the sight of everything now, so sterile, so clean, so scrubbed free of all the grime and blood and humanness.

I took my time, though my best friend lay dying as I walked through the building. Skittery walked ahead, trying to rush me along as his pace picked up, but I knew Jack – he wouldn't let go until I arrived.

I didn't bother to try and prepare myself for the sight, knowing I couldn't have even if I wanted to. I tried not to believe in what awaited me. Jack was at the lodging house, laughing with his friends, and here I was to see his unknown twin, broken and bloody, stretched across the white hospital sheets.

Skittery turned the knob on door 366 and pushed it open. He entered quickly, allowing me to take my time.

There was no shock when I saw my best friend's weakened body, his face pale, his hands shaking, and I knew my face registered nothing. I walked as slowly as before, lowering myself into rickety chair placed next to his bed, barely taking notice of the thick line of teenage boys covering the far wall.

I could barely see Jack under his clammy skin, his eyes squeezed shut from the pain. He didn't make a noise, save from deep, rattling breaths. Where were the doctors, trying to save him? Where were the saints and the miracle workers? They, like me, knew he was a lost cause.

A sweaty hand lay carelessly over the side of the bed. Breathing deeply through my nose in an effort to remain calm, I reached out and took his hand in mine. A deep intake of breath and he grasped mine tightly, squeezing through the pain.

An eyelid cracked open; a bloodshot, deep brown eye peeked out from underneath. "Dave," he croaked, relief written into his voice. Still shaking.

I leaned forward, desperate not to look at the huge red stain around his stomach. "I'm here, Jack."

His fingers trembled and I laced them through mine. He coughed and I swore I heard death in the sound. "Dave," he repeated.

Silence rang through the room. I glanced back at the boys – mere boys – standing far away, giving us space but still there for their leader, their role model, their friend. The guy who saw them through hard times, who suffered for them, who they'd trusted and looked up to.

I saw my little brother, his face buried into Kid Blink's pant leg in a desperate attempt to avoid the unavoidable. I saw Racetrack Higgins, surrender in his eyes and fear on his face, watching his oldest friend die of loyalty. I saw Skittery, who'd come looking for me on this cold Sunday morning, staring without seeing. I saw all of them, not knowing how to begin to understand.

I turned my eyes back to Jack. He looked worse than before. "We're all here for you."

Jack managed a smile. "I know," he breathed, quieter than before. Jack had never been quiet.

"Jack, what happened?" I asked, knowing full well who was responsible and longing to wipe his self-satisfied smirk from his face, the jerk. The murderer.

"That" – he coughed – "bastard." He kept on slipping. "Don' let him get you, Dave."

I shook my head, though he couldn't see, his eyes closed again, shut tight in pain. The pain, the pain – I could practically feel it, I was absorbing it through my hand. My own stomach ached, a sharp pain coursing through my veins.

He coughed again and tried to compose himself. "Dave, tell – tell your sister I loved her."

My own lips trembled. "I will."

"Tell the guys they'll be okay."

"I will."

"You… you'll be okay, too." He breathed deeply. "You're smart, Dave, an' I never was." Words failed him again. I squeezed his hand tighter, afraid to let go. Footsteps approached from the hall. I couldn't bear to face the doctor who'd allowed this, nothing to numb the pain, not even a bandage to save the bed sheets. They might as well have not even brought him here; he died like an urchin in the street, dirty and scared.

"Jack, it's not your fault." I was losing control of my voice; it cracked out of desperation.

"I know, Dave." His temperature was steadily declining, though he kept sweating. "I know…"

Like someone snuffing out a candle, he was gone. He drew in one last, shaky breath and never exhaled. His shaking finally subsided and his hand felt heavy in mine. I let go reluctantly, checking his pulse at his wrist, his neck. Nothing but useless skin.

I couldn't stop the tears; all my frozen insides thawed and I became a wreck of emotion. Hands shaking, cheeks wet, I withdrew from Jack's side. I turned slowly, taking in the room, as if hoping to see his shadow hanging over mine.

Nothing.

A white-coated man with a stethoscope stood in the doorway, looking appropriately ashamed. Another life wasted and where had he been? Tending to the sinners, the addicts, the bluebloods while better, poorer men died undeserved deaths. I glared at him.

"I'm sorry for your loss," and he was retreating again.

I stared at the peeling, worn shoes of two dozen boys who'd starved and stolen and never cried before today. They'd all known tragedy, wanted for better circumstances, but as long as Jack Kelly the hero lived, there was hope for them. What would they do now?

I glanced back at the body, no longer my best friend, but a flesh sack of bones and organs. It wasn't my best friend, my defender, my liberator. Just his container.

Jack died standing in my way. He died doing the thing he knew best: protecting.

In spite of all the grief and anger that flooded my mind, one word made it to my lips.

"Murderer."

* * *

_Guys, I cried. At my own writing. I'm kind of pathetic, no?_

_Anyhoodles, hats tipped to Imogen Heap for the inspiration. I apologise for it being so short, but gotta admit, that's a pretty intense chapter right there._

_Oh, and of course, if you enjoyed this and my other writings, go ahead and check out Blood Brothers, my collab fic with **Brunette. **You can find the link on my favourites page (I'm sad) and you'd better review, because Brunette knows some pimps who can fuck you up, mothers._

_I miss Jack. _

_moseph_


	12. Chapter Twelve

_**Author's Note:**__ Wow, guys – over three years and twelve chapters later, _Falling Down Stairs_ has finally come to a close. It's funny, looking back on those early chapters, how much my style and skill has changed. One day, I might think about cleaning them up. For now, I'll let it be._

_A major shout out to everyone and anyone who has taken their precious time to read and review my story – you guys are fantastic. Enjoy!_

_**Disclaimer: **__Don't own _Newsies_ in the slightest sense. Damn._

* * *

The gun looked and felt strange in my hand. The chain of events that led to me having the gun was blurry – someone who knew someone, who knew someone, who had an opium den, though you'd think that nowadays, the borrowing of weapons wouldn't be so convoluted – but there it was, hard and cold and oddly light.

I hurried down the dark, damp street, weaponry in hand, and my thoughts were oddly distracted. I had a mental image of who I was finding, but what I was about to do, I wasn't entirely sure. And my thoughts kept drifting back to something someone said….

Right. It had been outside the hospital, after Jack's body had been taken care of – whatever that entailed – and before any of us had any idea what to do with ourselves at that point. No tears, no eulogies, no flowers, just silence.

"So what now?" Blink had asked, somewhat inappropriately. "What happens to this bastard?"

"He goes on living," I had answered numbly. "And we just go on."

Racetrack, ever the sage one, had shaken his head. "Nah. After what he's done? He don't get to go on living no more." And he'd given me a long, hard look that was nothing short of motivation.

And so there I was, hurrying down the dark, damp street with weaponry in hand and with only the vaguest of ideas of what I was going to do when I got there.

Threaten him? Punch him? Use the gun? That was probably what would be expected of me, but nothing I could think of made any sense. I didn't even know what to say when I got there.

Nevertheless, I was striding – not purposefully, but frantically – toward the school that started it all. That place.

I would have preferred to have killed a man somewhere other than in a dormitory full of adolescent boys, but murderers can't be choosers and this would have to do. So I entered – late, past curfew, I knew, but soon enough it wouldn't matter.

Consequences, too, seemed to have an unsecured place in my mind. I knew he would die or at least suffer – what would happen to me? Fortunately, it didn't seem to matter, as I pounded the wooden steps without bothering to sneak quietly.

Manners went out the window as well as I forced the door to Mark's room open and saw him stretched out his bed. It was odd for me to see him so alone and unoccupied – he was usually surrounded by people and very much busy with whatever bullies did in their spare time. He looked oddly pleased to see me.

"Hello, David," he said, his tone civil but mocking. "And how are you this evening?"

My answer was a leveled gun.

His response was to laugh. "Oh David," he chortled, as he pushed himself off the bed. I couldn't remember him ever addressing me by my first name before today, but then I might have missed it between his taunts and punches. "Violence, really? Here? It's all so uncivilized."

I refused to flinch. "He's dead, you know."

Mark sighed and made an excellent job of looking concerned. When did he become a master of irony? "I thought that might have been the case. I know you won't believe me when I say I didn't have much to do with it, but you should anyway. It would be healthier for everyone."

"And how would that work exactly?" I asked tensely. It was odd, for me to be tense and him to be calm when I was the one with the gun. His expression was amused and honest.

"Because the chances of me, the son of very rich, influential people, being found guilty by a jury are very slim. That is, as compared to you, the poor, stupid one." There was even a modicum of surprise in his tone, as if it should have occurred to me how all this might look.

"I wouldn't call the man pointing a gun at your face stupid if I were you."

"And we all know how much everyone would like to be me, but sadly, that can't happen," he drawled as he examined a knick-knack on his bedside table. "So, again, it's really just better if we forget about all this."

He should have known me better by that point; words only incited me. "That's not going to happen."

Mark sighed again, suddenly exhausted by my fury. "Well, David, suit yourself, but be prepared for a very long downward spiral." And as if the argument was over, he kicked back on his bed. My arms were starting to hurt; he should have begged my forgiveness by that point.

"What do you mean?"

Mark sighed a third time, this time with exaggeration. "And you're supposed to be intelligent. _Think_, David. I have rich parents. My rich parents have expensive lawyers. If you shoot me and kill me here and now, you're going to prison for life. Don't you have a family or something? They'd be a bit put out, don't you think?"

My arms were starting to waver, both with exhaustion and with confusion. I hadn't been sure what I was going to do to begin with, but with the addition of my family in the situation, my feelings were even more confounded. Things were fuzzier than before, and the only decision I could make was to lower my gun slightly.

"So what would you propose?" I asked quietly, still furious but more wary.

Mark, of course, chose the tactless – and in all senses, _wrong_ – approach.

"Well, I would suggest pretending that your boyfriend never existed and try to scrounge up some money for your unemployed father to pay his bills with," he replied cheerfully.

Suddenly, the gun wasn't even an issue as I dropped it and lunged for his throat with my bare hands.

Though it was the wrong moment to be anything but angry and determined, I was slightly impressed by my strength; through the combination of surprise and the force of my rage, I managed to have Mark pinned and was subsequently hitting his face haphazardly, not doing anything really but stunning him.

Unfortunately, Mark had much quicker wits in a fight and managed to kick me off with such force that I flew through the open door and into the hall. Of course, at the sound of bodies being tossed around on the hardwood, the other boys came running. Mark was immediately on me again, cheered on by his wealthy peers, and began pounding me with a much more strategic force than my slightly feeble punches.

But my determination won through and I managed to roll him off me and onto the floor, where I kicked at him with all my might. One of my legs was quickly grabbed and twisted painfully, with such force that I wondered if it was Mark and not one of his brain-dead lackies.

Somewhere in the crowd that had formed around us, I saw Jimmy's worried face, but couldn't manage to stop myself long enough to be concerned. Wrenching myself free, I scrambled for the gun and just caught it by my fingertips as Mark kicked me hard and square in the gut; this sent me skidding across the floor, the gun following. I grabbed it and, with a steady hold on my weapon, raised it without aiming. I opened an eye – it was pointed directly at the ceiling. I didn't shoot.

Instead, I made to stand and Mark kicked me again, this time sending me tumbling toward the hardwood stairs in our dormitory. The momentum was too much and as I rolled off the top step, I released the gun and clenched my body in preparation for the pain.

It didn't help; every jutting piece jabbed my body. In the distance, I could hear boys cheering and, closer to me, the gun following me down. As I rolled off the last step, bruised to the core, I reached again for the gun, feeling my fingers close around it seconds before a foot connected with my ribs.

I couldn't stand – I never would have managed it. But with one eye barely cracked open, I pulled the trigger.

I've heard that time slows down at moments like this, but from my perspective, the clock hadn't stopped. The bloody stain on Mark's stomach spread at the speed it should have; he staggered backward and fell at the appropriate pace. What didn't happen was me, trying to move my legs and bring myself to stand; I wasn't sure if it was shock or injuries that left me paralyzed on the floor.

It occurred to me afterward, as people swarmed around and I was grabbed and prodded and screamed at, that my life was a lot like my body on the floor – once the high and mighty, the instigator, the one in control, I'd taken a long, hard fall down the stairs. Now, numb and paralyzed, it didn't matter anymore.

None of it would matter anymore.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Sigh, poor Dave. Why do I keep doing these things to him?_

_That's all she wrote, guys. Thank you for sticking with me all the way!_

_moseph_


End file.
